


What Dreams May Come

by Alistairs_Queen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, F/M, Gen, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Somniari, Templar Carver Hawke, Warden Amell (Dragon Age), Warden Bethany Hawke, Warden in Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 448,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alistairs_Queen/pseuds/Alistairs_Queen
Summary: I have taken the story of a female Hawke, named her Philippa and made her a major character who plays a minor role until everything she has ever known falls apart and she must make her way through an un-trusting world with a gift that few have.Philippa is found to have magic at a young age, but in spite of her father's best efforts, an explosive event rips her from her family and she is dragged to the Circle of Magi. She has terrible nightmares of demons stalking her nearly every night, their mere presence headache inducing. All of these signs lead to something that is practically unheard of in this Age, and she must cope with the consequences.
Relationships: Alistair/Amell (Dragon Age), Anders/Female Hawke, Anders/Male Hawke, Ariane/Finn (Dragon Age), Bethany Hawke/Nathaniel Howe, Blackwall/Josephine Montilyet, Dagna/Sera (Dragon Age), Female Hawke/Cullen Rutherford, Finn/Female Hawke, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. Shattered

Philippa shot up in her bed, a shrill scream issuing from her throat. Sweat poured from her brow, plastering her hair to her face and neck. She buried her face in the crook of her body as she drew her knees up to her forehead and hugged her shins. Her body shuddered and soon, a familiar, comforting set of skinny arms hugged her, his weight tipping her into his body as her twin brother joined her on her straw mattress. "It's okay Phil," Garrett soothed softly. "What was it this time?"

She wailed, shifting to grip his thin tunic and huddle her face in his warm chest. The sound of their bedroom door opening and closing told her that Mama and Papa had also woken with her scream. "It was the fire man," she sobbed. She had seen the thing so many times, amorphous and bright, heat rippling around it as it stared with it's inhuman glowing eyes. Still, it terrified her.

Another body joined them on the bed and her father's deep voice filtered through her hiccoughing cries. "It's all right, Turtledove. Remember they can't hurt you unless you let them."

She sniffed and snuggled closer to Garrett as her father's hand landed on her still trembling back, providing a comforting warmth through her nightdress. "But they pretend so good."

"You're better at hide and seek," Garrett reminded her, his chin knocking into her head each time he opened his mouth. "Just remember, when you see them, run and hide, and then pinch yourself. If you wake up, it was a dream. If not, I'll be there to protect you." Garrett protected her. Always. He protected her when mama overloaded them with chores and she wasn't strong enough to do her part, and on the playground when the other kids inevitably picked on her for being too small or too slow. He was her shield.

"Do you remember the words I taught you to listen for?" Papa asked gently.

She nodded, rubbing her tear streaked face on Garrett's shirt before looking up, straightening her back, and dutifully reciting the words, "Deal, Promise, Power, Wish..."

Papa reached over and rubbed her head with a smile, ruffling her hair. "There's a good lass. Now, let's get you all tucked back in. Tomorrow's a big day."

Philippa gasped, releasing Garrett's shirt from her clutching fists and rubbing the last of her tears on her nightdress. "Market day?"

"Right you are," he agreed, getting up from the edge of the bed where he sat and allowing her to tuck herself back beneath her blankets. She clutched Garrett's hand and he rolled his eyes, climbing beside her so she could huddle against him.

"Will Mama be coming with us tomorrow?" Philippa asked hopefully.

"I should think so," Papa said with a nod as he tucked the blankets around the pair and leaned down to kiss them both on the forehead. "It will be her last chance to get out of the house before winter sets in and your siblings are born. Get some sleep, you two."

Papa turned and left the room, drawing the light with him, leaving the shape of the crystal burned into her vision. Garrett shifted and tugged on the blanket. "Share, Phil."

Philippa pressed her eyes closed and relinquished a bit of the blanket to her brother who was soon snoring softly again. It was not so easy for her to get back to sleep. Muffled voices drifted through their small cottage, allowing her to barely make out her parents as they spoke. "The dreams are getting more frequent," her mother's gentle hum said nervously.

"She's 7, Leandra. I was taken to the Circle when I was her age," Papa replied. "I had hoped I wouldn't pass this curse on to our children, but I fear Phil is showing definite signs."

"Oh, Malcolm, what are we going to do?" Mama fretted.

"Don't worry, love. So long as her powers don't manifest in public, I can teach her to hide them. I'll not allow the templars to take our little girl."

Philippa cringed. She remembered the hulking metal men that prowled the Chantry courtyard, menacing folks with their bucket heads wreathed in feathers, and their legs draped in colorful skirts that did nothing to hide the massive shields strapped to their backs and the sharp, magical swords that could steal the very breath from your lungs. She didn't want to be like father if it meant she would be stolen from her family. She didn't want her dreams and the scary spirits that haunted them. She didn't want magic.

They were all up early the next day so they could load up the wagon and head in to Lothering for Market day. Philippa sat beside Garrett on the long bench in front of the table, twirling her spoon in her oatmeal. She yawned heavily and lifted her elbow to drop it on the table and rest her head on her hand. "No elbows on the table, dear," Mama scolded, taking Garrett's already empty bowl from in front of him and giving him leave to go and help Papa. Philippa sighed and dragged her elbow back down before taking a reluctant bite of her breakfast. She forced the remainder down and then brought her bowl to Mama. "Come and sit by the fire and I'll fix your hair before we leave."

Philippa trudged over to the fire and flopped to the ground while her mother waddled awkwardly across the living space and gingerly lowered herself into the armchair behind her. The horsehair brush tugged lightly on her matted black hair. "Ow," she complained. "Can't I just cut my hair like Garrett?"

Her mother chuckled lightly. "Maker, wouldn't that be a sight?" Without answering, she continued to tug the knots from Philippa's hair and then braided it loosely down her back.

"The wagon is ready," Papa announced excitedly, peeking his head in the door with a grin.

Mama shooed Philippa from the floor and with great effort, heaved herself from the chair to follow her to the door. "With any luck, the bumpy ride into town will knock these babies loose and I'll be able to breathe again. I can't believe I agreed to have more after the first set of twins." Mama said teasingly.

Papa chuckled and pulled the door closed behind them before helping Mama into the seat of the wagon while Philippa climbed into the back with Garrett and the few crates and parcels they were going to use as trade. "The odds of more twins was astronomical... and yet here we are."

"As long as there's no more girls," Garrett teased Philippa, sticking his tongue out at her.

"We won't know that until they've arrived," Papa reminded them as he flicked the reins and the mule started forward along the dirt road.

Philippa crossed her arms and returned the raspberry that Garrett had given her. "I hope they're both girls."

The autumn air was crisp, but not enough that you needed a cloak. On the ride into town, Philippa forgot about her dreams and about being tired as the tall spires of the King's road came into view through the trees along their path. Lothering was just around the corner. She could smell the freshly baked bread and hear the excited voices of the vendors as they all set up their tents along the outskirts of town, eager for the chance to sell some of their handcrafted wares and socialize with friends.

After Papa guided the mule into their usual place, they all climbed from the wagon and began to set up their own wares. Once the tables were set, Papa offered them each a copper and with a wink said, "Go find some trouble."

Philippa and Garrett grinned at each other and ran off into the crowd with Mama's voice calling behind them. "Stay together and be back for lunch!"

Garrett had a few friends in town that he had met last summer during the faire. His brown eyes scanned the streets as she lagged behind, wanting to find something to spend her copper on. She kept an eye on his bouncing mop of black hair, but he was faster than her on his longer legs. Papa kept promising she would hit her growth spurt soon and catch up to Garrett, but it wasn't going to happen in time for her to catch him as he finally spotted his friends and took off to join their game of tag. She hadn't particularly cared for the group of boys the last time they had met, but Mama had said to stick together, so she slipped through the crowd, following her brother's voice. Before she reached the middle of town where the boys seemed to be congregated, her eyes were drawn to a stall adorned with dozens of small hand crafted knickknacks. There was a row of carved mabari dogs, another of tiny fennecs, a few rams and some fantastical creatures like griffons and dragons. She was enraptured with a glass blown dragon statue no bigger than the palm of her hand. It was read and black, and shone in the glare of sun that was peeking through the clouds. She approached the stall and bit her lip, trying to read the sign scribbled beneath the dragon. "Can I help you, sweetheart?" the young woman minding the stall asked with a smile.

Philippa glanced down at the copper in her palm and held it up. "Is this enough for the glass dragon?" she asked quietly.

The woman glanced at the copper as well and then at where she was pointing. Her expression shifted briefly before she smiled again and said, "You drive a hard bargain, blue eyes. I think I can let you have it for what you're offering."

Philippa gasped and a smile broke out on her face, her heart soaring in delight. "Really?"

The woman nodded. "I know your folks. They're a decent sort and have given me a bargain many a time. I feel it's only right to repay the favor."

"Thank you, miss," Philippa said gratefully, gently picking up the dragon and passing her copper to the woman.

She hugged the figure to her chest and dipped back into the crowd to find Garrett. She was eager to share her excitement with her twin who shared her fascination with dragons. She broke through the edge of the crowd and spotted Garrett chasing after one of the other boys. She couldn't remember any of their names, but the young blonde he was chasing she remembered had been particularly foul. She caught Garrett's attention with a wave of her hand and he grinned at her, tagged the boy and jogged over to her. "I wondered where you went, Phil. Want to play?"

She shook her head, eyeing the nasty boy as he sidled up to them, his cheeks red from running. "Look what I bought." She held the dragon up in her palm, her eyes wide as she searched for her twin's approval.

Before he even had a chance to acknowledge her, the boy scoffed and lifted his hand, slapping the delicate figure from her hands. "Who cares. Come on, Garrett. No girls."

"Hey!" Philippa shouted as the dragon fell to the ground and shattered into millions of pieces. Her heart lurched and immediately, tears began to stream from her eyes.

A snorted breath escaped the boy and he rolled his eyes. "Cry baby."

Without a word, Garrett spun on the blonde boy and swung his fist, connecting with his jaw. "What's the matter with you, Leon? That's my sister!"

Recovering quickly, Leon pounced on Garrett and the two hit the dirt, rolling around and throwing punches and kicks. "Stop it!" Philippa shrieked, her tears still rolling freely. Her cries went unheard as the boys tussled. Leon rolled Garrett onto his back and managed to straddle him, holding his arms down with his knees as he started to punch him repeatedly. "Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!" By now, the rest of the boys had gathered in a circle around the scuffle, and were egging Leon on with shouts of their own. Philippa tried to push between them to get to Garrett and help him, but she was much smaller than most of the boys and all she could do was get knocked around. Fear for her brother began to roll through her and her breathing shortened to shallow gasps around her tears. Quite suddenly as the fear hit a crescendo, she let out a wordless shout and threw her arms outward. Something loosened in her chest, unraveling, and by her will, the crowd parted. She stepped into the circle and the thread continued to unravel. She drew her elbows back and then pushed her hands forward, "Get off!" she shouted and Leon flew off of Garrett and across the now silent square, landing in a heap near the wall around the Chantry.

She dropped her hands and her breathing quickened even further into small panicked breaths. She looked at Garrett who was slowly raising up on his elbows, his expression terrified. She would never find out whether he was terrified _for_ her or _of_ her as the metal men began to close in around her and the world spun. She dropped to her knees and her vision went black.

She woke in her bed, much like the night before, drenched in sweat and uttering a terrified wordless cry. She could barely see for the tears in her eyes, the room fuzzy. When she huddled in a ball this time, her body shaking, it wasn't her brother's arms that found her, but her father's. "It's all right, Turtledove. It was all a dream."

She huddled against her father and he smelled strange, "It was different." She mumbled around her tears, small shoots of pain rocketing across her temples.

Her father drew back and tucked his finger beneath her chin to lift her eyes to his. Something was different about his eyes. Something unfamiliar. "Tell me all about it," he urged gently.

"It was Market day. We went to Lothering and Garrett ran off with his friends. I bought a dragon with the copper you and Mama gave me, and when I showed it to him, his friend broke it. Garrett hit him, but he was smaller than the other boy and I was afraid. I got so upset..." her voice faded and she looked down at her hands. "I did magic. Like you... but when the metal men tried to take me, I fell..."

Her father hummed thoughtfully, but his expression looked hungry. She felt herself cowing from him when he spoke again. "Well, it had to be a dream. _Today_ is Market day." He brushed her hair from her face and then patted her cheek. "How about this. I'll make you a deal. Go and get dressed and then on the way to Lothering I'll show you how to harness your power."

Philippa's heart began to thump swiftly. Her father had just used two of the words he had always warned her against. She hugged herself and sniffled, getting up from the bed. She went from her room and into the washroom to get cleaned up. When she was out of sight of her father, she took a chunk of her upper arm between her fingers and pinched.

The world snapped back around her. She tried to sit up, but fumbled when she couldn't bring her arms from behind her back. She slipped and her cheek smacked painfully into a hard wooden surface. She tried to cry and utter a complaint, but her voice was gone. Terror settled into panic and she began to thrash in place like she had seen fish doing on the riverbank when Papa had taken her and Garrett with him to catch dinner in the spring. She tugged on her arms, trying to get them loose and found her feet bound as well. When she tried to cry out, nothing escaped her throat. Tears began to stream from her eyes as her wrists burned where the rope wrapped around them rubbed her skin raw.

"She's awake," a gruff and unfamiliar voice said from nearby. She stilled herself and craned her neck to look in the direction the voice had come from. It was one of the metal men. His helmet had been removed and he sat on a long wooden bench that she had managed to wedge herself beneath in her writhing. His skin was dark tan, his hair a few shades lighter. Philippa hooked her feet around the foot of the bench and drug herself from under it, shuffled awkwardly to her bottom and drew her knees up to her chin, as far from him as she could get. He set a suspicious look on her. "Was she silenced? I don't fancy getting thrown from the wagon." he said.

"Aye. After what she did, the Knight-Commander felt it necessary. For safety. Even if she did exhaust herself on such a small spell." Philippa's head spun to take in the second voice and she huddled even further into herself.

They were on a wagon, the second metal man, also without his bucket helmet, sat where her father and mother usually sat when they took a ride, guiding the horses. _Where are we going?!_ She wanted to shout, but when she opened her mouth, still nothing came from her throat. The first man looked at her with a small amount of sympathy. "Do you know where you are, child?" She shook her head desperately, her chest tight as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks. "I'm sure it's scary waking up with your arms and legs bound, your voice gone, and a pair of strange men your only company, but you're safe. Do you remember what happened in the market?"

She felt her eyes go wide and she hung her head, realizing that it must not have been a dream. She wished that this was, but she was pinching the skin on her wrist that she could grab hold of and still she looked on the man. Garrett had lied. He had swore that when she pinched herself if it wasn't a dream that he would be there to protect her. She was all alone. The wagon trundled along the road, rattling noisily as the cheek she had slammed on the floor throbbed in time with her racing heart.

Her captor spoke again. "We're taking you to the Circle of Magi, child. When we get there, you'll be with other boys and girls like you. The Enchanters will teach you how to be safe, so you can't hurt anyone or yourself with your magic."

Philippa didn't want to be safe. She wanted her family back. Papa was a mage. He could teach her. Why did she need strangers to lock her up and show her tricks? Papa had been part of the Circle once, but he was free now. He didn't like talking about that time. All he had ever said about the Circle was a single phrase that he had repeated to her after she began to have nightmares. _My magic will serve what's best in me, not that which is most base._ Right now, she took no comfort in the words. She was alone and scared and her face and arms hurt.

She pressed herself into the corner of the wagon as far from the metal man as she could get and hung her head, ignoring him whenever he tried to speak to her again. Soon, a light rain began to fall and the moisture soaked through her clothes, chilling her. She tried to clench her jaw and stave off the shivers that began to wrack her from the cold, but it was no use. Her body trembled in spite of her best attempts. The man stood and draped a blanket over her. It was thin and patchy, but it temporarily quieted her trembling until the rain soaked through it as well. The raw skin on her wrists burned as the drops of rain trickled from her sleeves. She was miserable and she closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was anywhere but in this wagon with these men.

After what felt like forever, the wagon began to slow and she opened her eyes to see where they were. The woods around her told her nothing about where she was and she huddled even further into the blanket until the man stood from his bench and moved to kneel beside her. "We're going to bed down for the night, child. It will be another few days before we reach Kinloch Hold. We have tents and some food. If you promise to behave, I can unbind your wrists so you can eat. At the first hint of magic, either myself or Ser Maron will cast a smite to stop it. Do you know what a holy smite is?" Again Philippa shook her head, her eyes wide. Even if she wanted to escape, she had no idea where she was. She could never get home. There was no reason to use magic on these men, even if she knew _how_ she had thrown Leon across the town square. "Well, it's best you behave so you don't need to find out."

He reached behind her and used a knife to cut the soaked rope from her wrists and when it dragged across her skin, rubbing the raw edges, she tried to whimper, but it was soundless. She may have her hands back, but she would have liked her voice back, too, even if it was to cry properly. She slowly worked her arms back into a natural position after they had spent all day twisted behind her back while he cut her ankles free as well. Then the metal man pulled her to her feet and walked her to the edge of the wagon before dropping down to the ground with a clank of his armor and then hoisting her down, setting her on her feet on the muddy road. The driver knight had gone into a shallow clearing along the road and setup the tents and was now working on a small fire to keep the cold at bay. "Bryant, you know she isn't supposed to be loose."

"She's just a child, Maron," her escort said chidingly.

"A child that knocked a group of townsfolk on their asses and then threw a boy across the square with sheer will. Don't underestimate her."

Ser Bryant led her to a stump near the fire and sat her down. She slunk as close to the small fire as she could get, trying to stop her body from shivering. In a few minutes, he brought her a meager ration and bade her eat. She nibbled at the food, her stomach upset. Once the sun was down, he led her to one of the tents, handing her a fresh blanket. She didn't want to sleep. She was terrified of her nightmares. She laid awake for as long as she could, fighting the burning of her eyes, but finally, her eyelids drooped from pure exhaustion.

She didn't truly sleep. As soon as her eyes closed in the waking world, they opened in the dream world. Papa had called it the Fade. The monsters came to her all of the time, trying to trick her. Papa had warned her how to tell if the monsters were real, but even knowing all he had taught her, they still made her scared. This night, it was easy to tell the monsters from reality. It didn't even try to hide itself behind a mask. The tall gangly creature with the green skin and misshapen, over-sized, mouth stalked toward her. She wanted to run, but the space she was in closed in behind her. Her head began to ache, and Philippa cried, at least able to use her voice in her dreams. "Why are you so scared, little girl? I am not the one who wishes you harm. On the contrary, I would prefer we were friends. It's the ones out there who would bind and chain you until your flesh bleeds. Don't you wish you could fight back? I could show you... blend our power and I could help you get back to your parents." It said in a shrill and ragged voice.

Philippa shook her head, wisps of hair falling over her face as she pressed her eyes closed. "I don't want to hurt people."

"You wouldn't have to hurt anyone. Let me help you," it tried to offer.

Philippa shook her head again. "No!"

"So be it," the monster growled, rearing back and issuing a high pitched scream from it's maw that made Philippa clap her hands over her ears.

She bolted awake, much like she usually did from her dreams, sweating and terrified. She did it alone, no Mama, no Papa, no Garrett and no soft blankets to hide beneath. She couldn't even scream, the metal men still keeping her silenced. All she could do was shudder and cry, hugging herself as she curled into the fetal position and wished Garrett was there to curl up behind her. He had promised to be there for her. To keep her safe. Why wasn't he there? Why had Papa allowed the metal men to take her after promising Mama it would never happen?

Ser Bryant soon pushed the tent flap aside and stuck his head inside. "I'm going to take you to relieve yourself and then it's back to the wagon."

Philippa followed him further into the woods and he directed her around a tree, warning her not to try to run. After relieving herself, she sheepishly came back around the tree to follow him back to the wagon. He lifted her up onto the back of the wagon and then proceeded to bind her hands and feet again, at least allowing her the luxury of tying her wrists in front of her this time.

The next three days were the same. Day in and day out, she cried silently in between the bumpy road, the meager supper, sleeping in the cold tent alone, and dodging any number of monsters that haunted her dreams. By day four when Ser Bryant nudged her delicately around noon and pointed toward the North, revealing a massively tall stone structure towering over the landscape and probably visible for miles, she no longer had the capacity to be afraid. She watched the Tower slowly get larger and larger until the wagon ground to a halt near a small wooden dock outside a roadside inn. Ser Maron got down from the wagon and approached the ferryman at the end of the dock while Ser Bryant undid her ankles, leaving her wrists bound.

She was ushered onto the ferry and when the ferryman pushed off from the dock, Philippa stumbled. Her legs were unused to being stood on, and the boat rocked. She was still tired and dizzy and a little bit hungry. Her body ached. The ferry ride took several hours and the sun was going down by the time they reached the island in the middle of the lake where the Tower loomed against the sky. "Hail!" a voice called from the docks. The man's face was obscured behind the lantern he held aloft, burning dimly against the creeping darkness. "I'm Knight-Captain Greagoir. What's your business?"

"I'm Ser Bryant and this is Ser Maron. We hail from Lothering. We have a charge we discovered in the village that came into her power quite spectacularly," Ser Bryant explained.

"I see," the voice on the dock said calmly. "Bring her ashore and we'll get her to the cells for observation."

Philippa's heart began to thump harder as a new fear came upon her. He had said cells. Was she to be a prisoner like the bandits that she had seen trussed up in cages outside the windmill in Lothering two summers ago? The locals had shouted and thrown rotten fruit at the men in their cages, using language that had caused her mother to cover her and Garrett's ears and usher them away from the ruckus. She hoped no one was going to throw fruit at her.

Bryant laid his hands on her shoulders and guided her from the ferry. The wind was whipping angrily across the lake and she shuddered as she tripped and sniffled, her nose running down her lip. The man who had greeted them wore the same metal armor as her escorts. He led them up a winding stone staircase carved into the grounds toward a gigantic set of double wooden doors that arched to a point at the top. Another pair of templars opened the doors to let them in. Philippa was guided into an entryway so grand that when the doors closed behind them, the slamming echoed noisily off the domed ceilings, making her cringe. She sniffed again, the cold air from outside following them into the hard stone walls.

The Knight-Captain did not stop, even as a few more guards watched them pass. Philippa folded in on herself, averting her eyes from everything but her own two feet shuffling forward. They passed through a dark, rounded hallway that curved around the central room of the tower. Everything was stone. Philippa had never been in such a harsh building. The Chantry in Lothering had been made of stone, but it had been soft inside, full of good feelings and warmth.

She was herded down a set of stairs into an even darker hall. They passed a door ringed in strange letters that made her feel choked. Suits of armor lined the walls like terrifying sentries. After a few minutes, the Knight-Captain stopped outside of a room lined with several empty cells separated by thick iron bars. He opened one of the cells and Philippa's eyes widened as he finally deigned to look on her. His features were grim, his round face supporting a full head of light brown hair. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down. Philippa sniffed again, averting her eyes at his scrutiny. When she looked back up, he still hadn't spoken, but his head tipped ever so slightly toward the open door of the cell. She realized he wanted her to enter. With her heart beating so heavily it sounded like rushing water in her ears, she hesitantly stepped into the cell.

It closed behind her, the bars clanging loudly and the lock clicking into place. Tears joined the snot dripping down her face as she turned to look out at the three men staring at her like she were the one who was terrifying. The Knight-Captain beckoned her hands to him and he cut the bonds, aggravating the raw flesh on her wrists. She sucked in a breath and hugged her arms back to her chest. Suddenly, the heavy feeling that had followed her since she had woken up in the wagon the first day lifted. "What is your name, girl?" the Knight-Captain asked in his gruff voice. She took a step back, too scared to speak, even though she suspected she could, now. "How old are you?"

He tried a few different questions, but she refused to speak, afraid that anything she said would get her into more trouble or make them smite her like Ser Bryant had said they would if she misbehaved. When he realized he would get nothing from her, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bryant, did you say? Come with me and we'll give her some time to settle in. You can tell me how she presented. Knight-Commander Robard can decide how to handle her in the morning."

The three men left, taking the only lit torch in the room with them and plunging her into darkness. She hugged herself and backed to the farthest corner of her cell. It was cold and impenetrably dark. She leaned her back against the hard stone wall and slid to the floor, huddled around herself. Her body began to tremble and she coughed lightly, her own voice startling her momentarily. She hadn't heard it in so long. An odd taste set up in the back of her mouth and in spite of not having used her voice in days, her throat felt like she'd been screaming it raw. She wiped her face on her sleeve. Mama would have been angry if she'd seen. The floor where she sat was freezing and unforgiving. She hadn't thought there were any more tears in her, but they continued to stream down her cheeks, joined now by muffled sobs.

She could not tell if it was morning, but she woke, her body aching. Her head pounded in time with her heartbeat. Her clothing was soaked through from sweating in spite of the shuddering that would not stop. Her nose was still dripping and she sniffed, causing the bridge of her nose and the space beneath her eyes to explode in pain. She huddled more tightly, wishing for one of the threadbare blankets that Ser Bryant had given her and soon felt her lids drooping again, her eyeballs burning.


	2. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa is helped by someone we all recognize, and is brought into the fold.

When next she woke, it was to voices nearby. Someone's hand was on her forehead. It was a comforting hand, unlike the gloved and plated hands of the metal men. "Maker's breath, how did you let it get this bad?" It was a woman speaking. Her voice was soft, but her tone harsh, like Mama when she got upset. Philippa whimpered and tried to open her eyes, but she could not drag her lids apart. "Hush, child. You're safe." The woman said much more gently. A rustling sounded beside her and the woman spoke again. "I'm taking her to the infirmary."

"But Wynne, the Knight-Captain..." another voice responded nervously.

"The Knight-Captain can stick it where the sun doesn't shine. She needs proper medical care. She is burning with fever and if I don't treat the infection, pneumonia will set in." A fit of coughing wracked Philippa's body, tensing her muscles so she was curled up on the stone floor in a ball. When the coughing subsided, she felt arms wrap around her and lift her from the floor. "I dare you to get in my way..." the woman growled menacingly.

A trickle of sensation caressed over her skin, pulling her from the haze she had been in for what felt like days. She recognized magic. She had grown up with Papa casting little spells everyday for mundane things around the house. Her brow creased in a frown before she realized that through her closed eyelids, she could see light, instead of the impenetrable darkness of the cell she had been in. The second thing she realized was that the magic she was feeling was being directed at her. It flowed through her veins and her limbs shuddered involuntarily. Before it receded, she felt a presence. It was both familiar and strange. It felt like the monsters when they were inside her head, but it was kind. Helpful. She reached out to the presence, but when it noticed that she could sense it, it shied away. Realizing that it was in some way helping her, she pulled back to herself, allowing it to cautiously approach her again.

Philippa couldn't exactly see what was happening, but her mind was shaping an image of the presence, laying hands on her Fade self and pushing a small amount of magic into her. Suddenly, her chest loosened and she felt as if she could breathe properly. The sensation forced a harsh, involuntary inhalation of air that drew her eyes open. She sat up swiftly, coughing loudly. A bucket appeared before her and she wrapped her arms around it, hacking and barely able to catch her breath. Mucus and other fluids spewed from her lungs via her mouth and nose until her eyes were watering.

When the heaving finally stopped, she drooped her head low over the bucket, breathing as deeply as she could, her body fighting to regulate the basic function."There, child. You should feel much better now." She vaguely recognized the soft female voice that was speaking, a gentle hand running lightly up and down her spine. The hand left her back and cautiously reached over to pull her hair from where it dangled in her face and tucked it behind her ear. "Do you know where you are?"

Philippa turned her head to glance at the woman speaking to her. She was pretty, like Mama, and roughly the same age. Her light blue eyes were kind, matching her reassuring smile. Her short, light brown, hair was pulled back in a small tail and she wore yellow robes. Philippa took her eyes off the woman and glanced around the room. It was made of stone, much like the rest of the tower, but it was filled with all sorts of glass bottles of every size, a few beds separated by long curtains, and little tables covered in strange looking equipment. Two metal men stood by the doorway at the far side of the room. She shook her head as the woman took the bucket from her and proceeded to take a rag to her face and wipe away the worst of the mess that still clung to her skin. Her body was still quivering, and she clenched her jaw as the woman touched the back of her hand to her forehead.

"Your temperature is still a bit high, but I've managed to cure the infection in your lungs. We're not out of the woods yet. Can you tell me your name?" the woman asked.

Philippa's eyes flicked to the metal men at the door and cringed, afraid if she spoke, they might smite her. She still didn't know what that was, but in the stories that Papa used to tell her and Garrett, the Knights that smited dragons usually did it with their swords. She didn't want those giant swords anywhere near her.

The woman turned her head to see what had Philippa so scared. When she spotted the men, she chuckled lightly. "Oh, you don't need to worry about them. Window dressings, the lot of them. You're safe here. My name is Wynne. I brought you to the infirmary because you were sick. While you traveled from your home, did it rain a lot?" Again Philippa nodded, her mouth firmly shut. Wynne reached for the table near the bed where Philippa was sitting and with one hand wrung a rag out. Another short burst of magic caressed over Philippa's skin and a small bit of blue light emanated from Wynne's hands. Then Wynne gently helped Philippa to lay back and placed the rag on her forehead. The rag was nearly freezing, and it felt blissful against Philippa's heated skin. "Being constantly cold and damp, gave you a chill. Without proper medical care, it turned to pneumonia. It was lucky Ser Jamie found you and called me when he did."

Philippa knew that thanking Wynne was the right thing to do. Mama and Papa had taught her to always thank those who helped her, but she was still concerned about speaking. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Wynne and the metal men, and after biting her lip, she looked directly at Wynne and mumbled a brief, "Thank you," so softly that she barely heard herself.

Wynne chuckled again, the sound like a bell. Philippa decided she liked how it sounded when Wynne laughed. "And here I was beginning to think you might be a mute. But you can speak after all. You are welcome, but it _is_ my job."

When the metal men at the door didn't react to her speaking, she looked back at Wynne and asked, "Will I be able to see Mama and Papa again?"

Wynne pressed her thin lips together in what Philippa read as sympathy and spoke hesitantly. "It isn't unheard of for apprentices to get visitors, but it is extremely rare for those that are not of noble blood. Many times, if their parents aren't there when the child is taken, they never even know where they've gone. I'm sorry, child."

Philippa closed her eyes against the tears that welled up. She had been crying for days. It was time to stop being a crybaby. "What happens now?"

Wynne smiled again. "I've told you my name. Do you think you could tell me yours?"

"Philippa," she said.

"It's nice to meet you, Philippa. Do you have a surname?" Wynne wondered.

"Hawke," she added.

"And I'm guessing you're probably..." she hummed softly and tapped her finger on her lips. "seven?"

"Yes, ma'am," Philippa agreed politely.

"Do you know much about the Circle?" Wynne asked.

"Papa told me it was a prison for people who could do magic," Philippa said evasively. If she said too much, the metal men might go back to Lothering and find her father.

Wynne nodded slowly. "It can be for some, but for others it can feel more like a sanctuary. A haven against those who would do them harm because they were afraid. The Maker has given you a gift, Philippa. At the Circle, you can learn to use that gift for good." When Wynne noticed the expression on Philippa's face, she sat back. "But I'm sure it feels pretty scary right now. I felt the same way when I was first brought here." Then she chuckled. "Maker, that was probably 25 years ago, now. I have come to see the Circle as home, as I hope you may as well. For now, let's concentrate on getting you well."

Philippa slept away most of the next few days, rising only to eat and receive a dose of herbs to lower her fever. Wynne stayed with her for most of her time in the infirmary, gleaning small pieces of information from her while checking on her heart-rate and lungs with a light blue glow from her hands. Her second day there, Wynne brought two men into the room to speak with Philippa. One was an older man in the metal armor of the templars, his eyes a steely grey to match his armor. The other, a man a handful of years older that Wynne with a dark brown head of hair matched with a very long and bushy beard. His brown eyes, like Wynne's were kind and understanding. He wore a distinctive set of robes in blue and yellow with fabric pauldrons over his shoulders.

They both looked at Philippa with curiosity, and on the templar's behalf, suspicion. After they were introduced as Knight-Commander Robard, and First Enchanter Irving, the templar stepped ahead of the First Enchanter and barked a few questions at Philippa. "Before the incident in the market, had you used magic on any other occasion?"

Philippa shook her head, her eyes widening. "No," she said timidly.

"Why on that particular day, did you feel the need to attack the boy?" he demanded.

"I didn't... mean to, I mean. He broke my dragon, and my brother got really mad and hit him, but Leon was stronger, and I was so scared for Garrett..." She couldn't help the tears that slipped from her eyes. She rubbed angrily at them with her sleeve as the First Enchanter pushed past the angry Knight-Commander with a glare and sat on the side of her bed.

"It's all right, child. You can't always control when your magic will surface. But that's why you're here. To learn how to make the magic serve you." _My magic will serve the best of me, not that which is most base._ She still did not quite understand the meaning behind the words, but she recited them to herself.

Before Philippa had a chance to respond, the Knight-Commander turned his icy stare from her. "Wynne, how long until she can join the the other apprentices and begin classes?"

"I need time to get the fever under control. A few days at least," Wynne replied with a scowl of her own, her arms crossing beneath her chest.

"Fine, fine. Irving, get the phylactery and we will bring it to the chamber."

The First Enchanter glanced back at Philippa with a small smile. Then he took a small box from the pouch he carried at his waist. Inside was a tiny glass vial shaped like an hourglass set into a gold ring. At the top of the vial, there was a plug. He pulled it out and set it aside before pulling a tiny needle from the box. He held it up to show her, briefly before it turned bright red, like the bottom of Mama's silver kettle when it heated up over the fire. "This will only hurt for a moment, child. Every apprentice must have a small amount of blood drawn and placed in a phylactery so if they are ever lost, they can be found."

He held out his hand calmly, his smile reassuring. Philippa had little choice, so she gingerly set her hand in his. With practiced ease, he pricked her forefinger. Immediately, blood welled up and the sensation jolted up her forearm. She flinched, but before she could pull away, he had centered the uncorked vial under the dripping finger and massaged five drops of blood into the hourglass. Allowing her to pull her hand back and suck on her throbbing finger, he smiled again as he plugged the opening of the vial. "All finished. Thank you for being so well behaved."

On her last day in the infirmary, Wynne brought someone else with her. He was a young boy, barely older than Philippa. He had dark brown eyes filled with interest, and light brown hair cut short and neatly styled. The robes he wore were light blue that nearly perfectly matched the color of Philippa's own eyes. In his arms, he carried a bundle of clothing of the same color. He sheepishly handed the bundle to Philippa, making sure he didn't touch her, jumping back as soon as she had hold of it. She noticed that his robes were immaculate, not a single wrinkle or speck of dirt to be seen. That didn't stop him from straightening his belt as Wynne introduced them. "Philippa, this is my youngest apprentice Florian Aldebrant. He has been doing so well in his studies that I thought he might enjoy a day off to help show you around your new home."

His nose wrinkled as Wynne said his name and Philippa stifled a giggle at the strange name. "I heard you've been sick for days!" Florian said nervously, his eyes wide.

"I feel much better now," Philippa said, wrinkling her own nose as he looked her over as if she were contagious.

"Go ahead behind those curtains and get dressed. Then you're free to go," Wynne said with a smile.

Philippa did as she was told, pulling on the long robes. She had never particularly liked skirts when Mama had made her dress up on holidays, wishing she could have worn the pants and doublet like Garrett. She pulled on the matching leggings and soft slippers and stepped sheepishly from behind the curtains, tucking her unruly hair behind her ears. "Ooh, the blue matches your eyes," Florian said in wonder as she looked up at him and Wynne, knowing she still looked scruffy compared to his exceptionally clean visage. "Well, come on then, dorms are this way."

Wynne hustled Philippa after Florian with a small chuckle, as he exited swiftly. Florian talked a mile minute as he hurried down the twisting corridor, pointing out this and that as they went. "Slow down, Forian," Philippa begged, nearly out of breath and wondering how he could both walk that fast and talk that fast without passing out.

He slowed and then stopped, turning to face her. When she stopped in front of him, he took a step back. "Call me Finn."

She drew her head back questioningly. "Finn?"

His cheeks flushed lightly. "My full name is Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire. I've been here nearly two years, and most of the other apprentices still call me Flora. I prefer Finn. I'm... sure it's obvious why."

At his reddening cheeks and confession, Philippa did giggle. "Did your parents hate you?"

He pressed his lips together and puffed out his chest. "On the contrary, I still see my parents, unlike most of the others here."

Philippa felt the mirth drain from her as she thought of her own parents and the fact that she might never see them again. Pushing the thought aside, she swallowed and wrung her hands. "Well, my brother used to call me Phil. I guess you could, too."

"Phil it is, then," he agreed, looking her up and down and noticing her discomfort. "Sorry if I was too excited before. I'll try to slow down. The Circle is a big place. You don't want to get lost." He turned and started to walk again, this time more slowly. "We are on the third floor right now. As well as the Infirmary, there are a few meeting rooms, the dining hall, and the Senior Enchanter's Quarters." He pointed up toward the seemingly endless ceiling above. "Above us is the barracks, where the templars all live and train. Then above that is the Harrowing Chamber."

"What's the Harrowing Chamber?" Philippa asked curiously.

"When you first come to the Circle, usually you're an apprentice. There are a few exceptions, but that isn't important. After you finish your training, you take your Harrowing. I don't really know what happens at a Harrowing, but if you pass, you become a full fledged mage. If not..." he finally stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "I hear they either kill you, or make you tranquil."

Philippa's eyes bugged. "They kill you?" she squeaked.

Finn nodded gravely. "In most cases, though, I think it's better than being tranquil."

"What's that mean?" she asked.

He twisted his face as if trying to find the best way to explain. "It's some sort of ritual that cuts you off from the Fade. It means you can't dream anymore." Philippa thought that didn't sound so bad if it meant that the monsters would leave her in peace. "...But it also takes away your feelings, so you don't care about anything anymore." That part didn't sound as appealing. As much as she didn't like being afraid or sad, she didn't want to lose her ability to feel all together.

She shuddered. "That sounds awful."

Finn nodded and began to walk again. He led her into the central circle of the cylindrical tower. It was one large room with ceilings so high that their footsteps echoed loudly around the otherwise empty room. He headed for a set of stairs that curled around and let them out in a hallway similar to the one they had followed from the infirmary. Directly across from the stairs, Finn pointed to the ornate door that was currently closed. "That is First Enchanter Irving's office. Next we have the Chantry chapel, if you follow the Maker, most mentors will give their pupils some time every day for praying and reflection." Philippa's family followed the Maker, but it was rare they went to the Chantry because of all of the templars that served there. As a result, Philippa's belief was not so strong as some. Finn gave nothing of his opinion on the matter, hustling past the large room as he had all the others. "Here is the laboratories and the store room... Mage's quarters, the guest rooms..."

He slowed when they entered the next section. Several men and women, both elves and humans, sat quietly at tables around the area, pouring over books, or softly talking among each other. The templars hadn't been so obvious as they walked the halls as they were in this room. Philippa had noticed them watching out of the corners of her eyes, but here, they were clustered around the room, looking much more vigilant. Stacks of bookshelves lined the walls, and most of the people seated had at least one book open in front of them. Finn lowered his voice. "This is the mage's library. Apprentices aren't allowed to read these books without permission. I can't wait until I take my Harrowing. I might spend the rest of my years in this room, reading everything I can."

Philippa was unsure if she could see the appeal. She had only learned to read a handful of words so far, but she had always enjoyed listening to her Papa read. It allowed her imagination to soar. After lingering slightly longer in the library than he had elsewhere, Finn sighed and led her to the middle of the circle again. Philippa's attention was immediately drawn to a group of men and women with blank expressions on their faces and strange marks on their foreheads. "Who are they?" she asked breathily, their expressions making her shudder.

"Those are the Tranquil. They run the stockroom," Finn explained. "The brand on their forehead is where the spell to cut off their dreams was pressed into their skin."

Now that she had seen them, Philippa felt sad for the Tranquil. They looked so empty. "I don't like it here," she said softly.

He shooed her toward the stairs down with a flap of his hands. They emerged in another library. "This is where I spend most of my time. Some classes are held here, but apprentices can come and go as we please in this library."

Philippa was amazed at the sheer height of the bookshelves that lined every wall of three different alcoves. How were there enough books to line that many shelves? All along the stacks, children ranging from her age all of the way to nearly adults meandered. Some looked aimless, searching the shelves for something to pass the time. Others looked to be researching or working on something important. In a couple of alcoves, clusters of children grouped by age listened to other mages dressed in yellow like Wynne and the other enchanters they had seen in the library upstairs, as they lectured. Finn led her through the endless shelves, past a massive statue near the exit and into a much quieter hallway. The next area seemed to be a common room of sorts where more mages milled around, socializing, wary of the heavy templar presence. He pointed out the entrance to the basement which housed the repository and the phylactery chamber as well as the dungeons where she had been brought her first night. She started to vaguely recognize her surroundings as they headed for the hallway that the templars had brought her through.

"At last, we come to the apprentice dormitories. Anyone under 12 is in the dorms farthest from the exit. The older apprentices in the other room. We are in the same dorm for now, but I'll be moving up in two years. Come on, I'll show you your bunk and if I'm right, the others should be coming up on their mid-morning break. I'll introduce you to a few of them."

Finn led her into the first door from the common area. Straight ahead was a collection of tables and chairs strewn with cards and chess boards. A couple of instruments leaned against the back wall, and some balls were piled in a chest. To her left, another door stood open. She could see a pair or communal showers, presumably separating boys and girls. There were also stalls with chamber pots, and a few vanities opposite the showers. To her right, lined in rows were a few dozen bunks. Each of them were in varying states of neatness, and some were strewn with clothes that had made their way out of the footlockers at the foot of each bunk.

"Wynne says they gave you the bunk under Neria. She's been here for ages. She's eight, but she can't even remember where she is from." Finn pointed to one of the bunks near the back of the room. The sheets on the top bunk were hastily thrown up in an attempt to 'make' the bed. In the head and foot-boards, odd symbols were carved deep into the wood. Philippa moved to the bunk and sat down on the bottom mattress. It was soft. Softer than the straw mattress she had at home in Lothering. Finn sat opposite her and made himself comfortable. "We're neighbors." he grinned. Even his smile was neat. So was his bed. The sheets were strategically tucked into each corner and devoid of wrinkles. His footlocker was closed tightly and it looked to Philippa like the brass latches shone a bit more brightly than those of the other chests. "There should be some spare robes, a brush, and other essentials in the footlocker for you."

After she checked the footlocker, a group of children of varying ages started to filter into the dormitory, laughing and talking among each other. An elven girl with dirty blonde hair pulled into a sloppy tail stopped in front of Philippa and her bright green eyes slipped up and down her. "You're my new bunk mate?" she asked in an appraising tone. A tall gangly boy stood beside her, his black hair hanging lank around his face, drawing attention to his blue eyes. He was taller than the others, but his demeanor said he was not older than them. Like Garrett, he was just tall. On her other side stood a blonde boy with short hair spiked up at odd angles off his head and aqua colored eyes and behind them were two more girls, both looking unsure if they were allowed to be curious. The elven girl had raven hair much like Philippa's own, and eyes almost as dark. The human girl had red hair and midnight blue eyes.

The blonde boy started to chuckle and elbowed past the girl that she assumed was Neria. He held his hand out. He was closer to Finn's age than Philippa's, but his smile was easy and his strangely colored eyes sparkled as he spoke. "Ease up, Neria. Can't you tell the lass is a bit shy." Philippa had never heard an accent like his before and she took his hand lightly.

"I was just having her on," Neria mumbled, crossing her arms and glaring at the boy before turning a smile on Philippa. "I'm Neria."

"And I'm Kilian," the boy said, shaking her hand briefly before taking his back and pointing out the others. "The tall bloke there is Jowan, our dark headed beauty behind me is Brissa, and the fire hair is Faye." He cocked a smirk and flicked his eyes to Finn. "I'm guessing you've met Flora."

Finn sat up. "My name is Finn!" he grumbled with an eye roll.

Philippa drew the attention off of Finn and said, "I'm Philippa."

"She prefers Phil," Finn interjected.

She shot him a thankful glance, unsure how to bring up the nickname to the group of strangers. "Welcome to Kinloch Hold, Phil," Neria said with another grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are quite a few familiar faces that will be showing up in Philippa's time in the Circle. I had some fun meshing everyone together and allowing my view of their personality to reflect in their interactions. Hopefully you enjoyed and will continue to enjoy the liberties I take in this story.


	3. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa begins to accept her place in the Circle and makes friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter, that focuses a little on character building.

Her first days as an apprentice were nothing like she had imagined. After evaluating her reading level, she was placed with a group of three other children her age in a class solely dedicated to teaching them reading. There was not even a mention of magic. She moved ahead quickly with Finn as her more than willing tutor. He was fluent not only in the King's speech, but he could speak and read Tevene and Orlesian. According to him, he wanted to eventually learn every language there was to know, but there was plenty of time for that. A month after she arrived, Finn was helping her through a short story about dragons when she suddenly felt her heart clench. Every now and then, something would remind her about her family and she would have to fight back a stream of tears. Finn glanced up from the book and saw her expression. "Is everything all right, Phil?"

She nodded, swallowing. "This story... it reminds me of one that my Papa used to tell me and my brother." She sighed, swallowing again, and Finn produced a ridiculously clean handkerchief, offering it to her with a barely hidden curl of his lip at the thought of snot. She giggled and waved it off, not wanting to soil his pristine handkerchief. "I just... I wonder sometimes if they even know if I'm all right."

Finn screwed up his face in thought. "Maybe you should go to the First Enchanter and see if you could get permission to write home."

She shook her head, her eyes widening. "He's so busy. I don't want to be a bother."

"Enchanter Wynne, then. She wouldn't mind," Finn suggested.

Philippa bit her lip. "Would you... Would you help me write something and then take it to her for me? You're her favorite."

Once a week, the apprentices were taken outside onto the grounds for exercise and fresh air. Philippa yearned for those days when she could feel the sun on her skin again. As soon as they stepped foot outside each time, Finn would excuse himself to find the least dirty patch of lawn and stand rigidly still until it was time to go back inside.

A handful of weeks after Finn had helped her write her letter, Philippa was outside with the small group that had taken her in as their friend. It had been awkward at first, because Philippa had never really had friends. Garrett had friends and she followed on his heels. He had always been the one with all of the charisma. Soon, she had started to be able to pick out when Neria was being cheeky. Like Garrett, in spite of her age, Neria was the self appointed leader of their little group, and she had all of the charisma. Except for Kilian, who seemed to have his own language that Philippa had needed to decipher before she truly understood him most of the time. He told her he was from a city in the Free Marches called Starkhaven, which supposedly explained his strange way of speaking.

They had secured a spot on the wide open yard and were deciding whether they were going to throw a ball around or organize a game of tag. In opposition of both choices, Faye had suggested hopscotch and Neria was organizing a vote when a templar approached them all. "Philippa Hawke?" he called drolly, startling them all with the unexpected templar presence.

Jowan nudged Philippa forward and she lowered her eyes. "I'm Philippa, Ser."

"The First Enchanter asked me to fetch you and bring you to him," the templar explained. Then he turned on his heel and she followed with a backward glance at her friends who were all watching in awe.

He led her up to the second floor through the creepy stockroom and the mage's library, past the chapel and the laboratories to the First Enchanter's office. The door was wide open, and the templar stepped in without knocking, stopping just inside the door. Philippa peered around his bulky frame and saw the First Enchanter look up to see who had entered. "Ah, Miss Hawke. Thank you, Ser Hadley." The office was neatly set up, bookshelves lining every wall and a long table to her right, strewn with any number of artifacts and books that weren't currently weighing down the shelves. His desk sat ahead of them, piles of papers neatly organized atop it.

The templar touched his fist to his chest and bowed out, leaving them alone. First Enchanter Irving stood and rounded his desk with a gentle smile in his face. He headed for the door and closed it quietly before beckoning her to sit across from him in the chair in front of his desk. He folded his hands, still smiling. "Wynne told me some weeks ago that she sent a letter off to your parents in Lothering at your request." He studied her briefly as her stomach knotted up and her heart began to race. Was she in trouble for trying to contact her parents?

She opened her mouth to quickly stutter out an explanation. "I just missed them so much, and Finn told me that it was okay. He talks to his parents all the time. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to..."

The First Enchanter chuckled, cutting her off with a few kind words. "You aren't in trouble, child. I called you here because we received a response. I've already performed the mandatory checks for contraband and wanted to give you the package in person."

He reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small box wrapped in brown paper, with a letter attached. The letter looked unopened, as well as the parcel. "You didn't read the letter?" she asked in amazement as he placed them in her eager hands.

"As far as I'm concerned, it is none of my business what is said between families. Now, run along. As I understand, you're meant to be outside. Exercise and sunshine is good for you."

Philippa got up from the chair, her letter and package clutched to her chest. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

She hurried out of the office and the templar who had escorted her led her back outside. Instead of heading toward Neria and the others, she made a beeline for Finn. His face was etched with concern until he noticed the things in her hands. "What did the First Enchanter want? You're not in trouble, are you?"

"No, I've got a package. My parents got the letter I wrote, and they've sent me one back. I want to read it, but I might need help," she said sheepishly.

Finn's nervous expression slipped away and he replaced it with a smile. "Of course. Let's go and..." he cringed briefly before muscling forward. "sit on the bench." She started toward one in the sun and he stopped her. "No, no. The one _under_ the gazebo."

She giggled and followed him to the small stone bench under the gazebo where he proceeded to pull one of his handkerchiefs from a pouch and lay it neatly on the bench before sitting stiffly. Philippa sat on the opposite end, lifting her feet up and draping her robes over them as she folded her legs beneath her so she could face him. He made a face at the thought of the dirt from her slippers that was making it's way onto her skirts, but she didn't care. She set the small box down between them and carefully tore open the envelope. She had worked really hard on the letter she had sent home, and even harder on learning to read before she received a response so she would be able to read it on her own. The letter was brief. She read it out loud, her voice just loud enough for Finn to hear.

_Dearest Philippa,_

_We were so grateful to receive your letter. Words cannot express how much I feel like I failed you. I'm so sorry that there was nothing I could do to prevent you being taken to the Circle. I would have given myself to spare you that pain. I wish I could say more, but letters in and out of the Circle are monitored._

_Days after you were taken, your mother went into labor. Garrett was overjoyed to see the first babe to slip from her womb was a boy, but much more disappointed when your sister was born ten minutes later. We've named them Carver, and Bethany. Both are healthy. Carver is much like Garret was as an infant. Loud. Bethany has not cried yet. She is the only one of the four of you that is so mild mannered._

_We miss you a great deal, and wish we had the means to visit you, but you know it is impossible. I was able to find a way to get you something special as an apology. When Garrett explained what happened at the market, I returned and gathered the pieces of your well earned prize. I repaired them and packed them tightly so it didn't get broken again. I hope it will serve as a reminder that your family loves you very much._

_All our Love, Mama, Papa, Garrett, Carver and Bethany_

_P.S. Garrett asked me to remind you to pinch yourself._

Philippa gasped in amazement as she realized what was in the small box. She set the letter down and with trembling fingers, peeled the paper free and took the lid from the box. Inside, nestled in some cotton was her tiny glass dragon. Papa had repaired it, obviously with magic, and it looked just as she had remembered it. She hugged it to her chest, tears beginning to stream down her face. She was happy to hear that her family was all right, but saddened that she likely wouldn't hear much from them. Not like Finn heard from his parents. "Thank you for helping me, Finn." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. He let out a choked cry and pulled away from her. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." she drew her fingers into her sleeve and reached to wipe his cheek where her lips had touched, knowing he was phobic of germs and physical contact.

He cringed and held up his hands. "Don't! You're welcome..." he said, breathing heavily around his mild panic attack. "But I'm never helping you again if it means you're going to _kiss_ me. Germs, Phil..." He shuddered again.

"I'm truly sorry. I was excited and I wasn't thinking," she said sheepishly.

As soon as Philippa had mastered reading and writing, she was sent to classes where they began to learn about history and geography, and for the first time since entering the Circle, magic. Each new apprentice was taken into a small room guarded by a templar and evaluated by an Enchanter. Philippa was glad to see that the Enchanter who approached her was Wynne. Wynne sat her in a chair and seated herself in another chair in front of her. "What we're going to do today is evaluate your strengths and weaknesses. When you presented in Lothering, what happened?"

Philippa tucked her hands under her thighs on the chair and bit her lip. "I couldn't get to my brother. I felt something weird in my chest, and then all of a sudden the people in my way moved. Then I pushed my hands forward and Leon flew through the air like a giant had picked him up and tossed him. After that, the world was fuzzy and I fell asleep."

Wynne hummed thoughtfully. "You must have a very kind heart, Philippa. It is a rare thing that in the heat of the moment when someone you love is in danger that a first manifestation of magic is of the physical type."

"Physical magic?" Philippa asked, frowning.

Wynne nodded. "It is more commonly known as Force Magic. The ability to apply force to objects around you and move them with a thought, or to manipulate the gravity in the air and slow down objects in motion."

"What other kinds of magic are there?" Philippa asked with curiosity.

Wynne chuckled in that sweet and carefree way that Philippa liked to hear and waved a hand dismissively. "Far too many to go over in the time we have in this room. We are here to see if you're advanced enough in your power to be leaning toward a certain specialization. It is easy to tell with some apprentices, where as others are much more difficult to evaluate. Since you presented with Force Magic, first, I am going to test the strength of your abilities." She took a small ball and set it on a table across the room. Then she moved back to Philippa's side and asked her to stand. "All I need you to do is squish that ball if you can. Hold your arm up like this..." Wynne held her right hand out from her body, bent slightly at the elbow, and her palm facing herself. Philippa mimicked the gesture. Wynne nodded. "Good, now concentrate on the ball. Reach inside yourself for your magic... when you've found it, concentrate on directing it to your palms. Then pretend you're grabbing hold of the air above the ball and close your fist around that air. When you think you have it, pull down. Only use a small bit of magic and the ball should flatten under the spell."

Philippa nodded, concentrating with everything she had. She had never cast a spell on purpose before. She looked inside herself, closing her eyes. She felt nothing at first, but then suddenly, she felt the tiny spark of power deep in her core. She called out to it, reaching for the spindle that she had felt unraveling in her chest back in Lothering. She took a small bit from the reserve, carefully siphoning only a little, like Wynne had said. Then she directed it to her palm, feeling the warm sensation trickling through her veins as it traveled from her chest to her hands. She opened her eyes and saw the power humming in an aura around her fingertips. She pulled her eyes from the humming light and pretended to grab the air over the ball. When she pulled her closed fist down, the spell fired off. Not only did the ball flatten, a booming crash sounded and the table it was sitting on splintered and cracked, falling to pieces with the crushing force of her magic. Immediately, Philippa backed up and let go of the magic she had called, stuffing it back down into her core, winding it tightly back into place. Her hands shook in fear as Wynne set her hands in her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't use a lot. I only wanted to flatten the ball, like you asked." Tears started to stream down her face as the templar guarding the door was inside in an instant.

"Is everything all right in here, Enchanter Wynne?" he asked warily, looking from them to the shattered table.

Wynne pulled Philippa against her protectively. "We are just fine Ser Bran. If you don't mind, I'm conducting an evaluation." With one last glance at them both, Ser Bran left again, closing the door behind him. Wynne turned Philippa around to face her and knelt in front of her. "You didn't do anything wrong, child. Magic takes practice and discipline. We are simply here today to test your strengths and weaknesses. If you're up to it, I'd like to test a few other disciplines."

Philippa bit her lip, swallowing her tears and then wiping them away on her sleeve."Okay."

"Good." Wynne smiled sweetly. "Next, I'm going to test your ability to cast a simple creation spell. It is called grease, and as it's name implies, you're going to summon a greasy substance to your fingertips that can be used for many different things from simply pranking your friends to fueling an inferno." Philippa nodded, her eyes wide. "Now, since this is a summoning and not a simple manipulation, it will require a more complex casting. You will need to draw from your will as well as your mana. You will need to touch the Fade to draw forth the grease. Watch my fingers carefully." Wynne executed a seemingly complex string of gestures that she repeated three times before Philippa was able to mimic them. Wynne got a bucket and set it beneath Philippa's hands. "Have the mana ready, then as you execute the movements, draw from the Fade. The Veil is thin here at the Circle, so reaching across it should be simple."

Philippa closed her eyes again, poking much more gently at the spindle of mana in her core. She drew a minuscule amount to her fingertips and held it there. Then as she bent and twisted her fingers in the pattern Wynne had shown her, she allowed her mind to open up to the dream world that so regularly haunted her as she slept. She was afraid to accept anything from that strange world, but Wynne had said it like there was nothing to it, so it had to be safe. She trusted Wynne. The Fade answered her immediately, her hands completing the gesture and swiftly becoming slick. She opened her eyes and saw the clear, shining substance dripping from her hands into the bucket as if she were sweating it out. She giggled lightly. "I bet this is Finn's favorite spell."

To her surprise, Wynne burst out in a fit of laughter. "I performed his evaluation as well. Maker, I thought he was going to faint when a tiny drop got on the hem of his robes. I'm told he scrubbed at that spot for a week before giving up and asking for a replacement set."

Philippa giggled as the spell began to peter out, leaving her hands clean as the grease all dripped into the bucket. "At least I didn't drown us in grease." With Wynne coaching her so patiently, Philippa was actually enjoying herself, the crushing weight of her nerves loosening the knot in her stomach.

"You'd be surprised the amount of apprentices that make a mess of that spell. Thank you for not making the clean up difficult," Wynne said with a smile. "We get to make the clean up fun, now."

"How so?"

Wynne smiled devilishly. "We're going to set it on fire."

Philippa's heart leapt in both terror and excitement. "How?" She remembered her father lighting the hearth with his fire magic, and fending off a pack of wolves that had wandered too close to their wagon when the wheel had broken along the road at night once.

"The fireball spell is another summoning, much like the grease spell, but instead of letting it leak from your hands, you must form it in your palms, like a lump of clay. Hold your hands before you like you're holding an invisible ball... Good... now draw slowly on your mana as you touch the Fade. You must _balance_ the element. Siphon too much and you will lose control of the fire. It is a dangerous tool that you must master. You control it, not the other way around. Once you've crafted a sufficient ball in your hands, gently push it toward the bucket, directing it toward the grease."

Philippa listened closely to Wynne before beginning. She reached for the Fade and her mana together, picturing the invisible ball in her hands wreathed in flames. She didn't close her eyes this time, relying on her eyes to judge the size of the fire. She felt the answering tug of the Fade and she slowly began to pour mana between her fingers. A small spark ignited in the air between her palms. It flickered and died before sparking again as she gently nudged it with a bit more mana. The spark erupted, making Philippa's heart jump before she swallowed the fear and exerted her will on the fire. She couldn't panic. Panic and fear was the enemy. It was her magic. She controlled it. She twisted her hands around, shaping the ball into one that was slightly larger than her palms. The heat from it licked at her face, but it didn't burn. It felt warm and safe cupped between her hands. She stepped back from the bucket and then pushed the fire toward it. A whoosh of flames burst from the bucket as the grease caught and started to burn. "I did it! I'm like a dragon!" she cried in amazement as Wynne smiled proudly at her.

Wynne moved toward a bag near the doorway and produced two long metal sticks which she pierced marshmallows on the ends of. She handed one to Philippa. "A reward for a job well done. You are a natural."

Wynne asked her to perform a few more spells from other schools of magic after their snack, and she had been successful in performing them on the first try. Now, as she headed back to the dormitories, exhausted from using up so much mana, she yawned and shuffled her feet, pride the only thing keeping her on her feet long enough to get to her bunk and collapse on top of the blankets.

It was a warm spring day, and her birthday was coming up. She was excited because her father and brother were coming to visit. She paced the dormitory nervously. Finally, she heard movement and turned. A gasp escaped her throat as Papa and Garrett stood beside a templar. She squealed in excitement and ran to them, her arms outstretched. She jumped into her father's arms and he laughed happily, picking her up and spinning her. When he set her back on her feet, Garrett was next, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "I've missed you Phil." The only thing that could hope to dampen her spirits was the small headache that was forming behind her eyes.

They were allowed to use the grounds where the apprentices had recreation time, walking through the garden. She took them to the gazebo and they sat. Philippa talked a mile a minute, telling her father and brother about everything that had happened since she had come to the Circle, and how well she was doing in her classes. Her father beamed at her with pride and when she finally slowed to take a breath, he looked around briefly before leaning down to whisper to her. "I'm so glad you're doing so well, Turtledove. Maybe now that you have learned to control your power, I could find a way to sneak you out of here and we could all go home together. You could meet your brother and sister, and see your mother."

Philippa drew her head back, looking at her father and the odd expression on his face. She frowned as Garrett nodded vigorously. "It could be just like old times, Phil."

She shook her head slowly, closing her eyes as she started to realize what was happening. It had been months since she had had a nightmare, but it felt like just yesterday that she had learned to harness her power. Her use of magic and her mind touching the Fade must have drawn the monsters to her. She shook her head again and corrected herself. She had learned their true identities. Demons. They existed to tempt mages into corrupting themselves so the demon could get inside their body and walk outside the Fade. She hugged herself, reaching her arm around to give herself a pinch. When she pain spiked up her arm, the illusion of her father and brother flickered briefly, showing her the truth. "No. You're not my family. I belong here. You can't make me leave!" she cried, getting up to run from the demons. She ran back inside the Circle and when she slammed the door behind her, the dream ended abruptly and she jerked awake.

The dorms were dark, and Philippa realized she had slept through supper. She hugged herself, sitting up. She no longer felt the need to cry or huddle up when she dreamt. She had proven that she could control her magic. She didn't need the help of some demon who thought it knew better than her. She got up from her bunk and quietly crossed the dormitory to the washroom. After relieving herself and splashing some water on her face, she left the washroom to return to her bed. She didn't make it that far as a voice called out to her. "Phil... everything all right?" Kilian asked, standing in the doorway of the dormitory. He was obviously just returning from wherever he had been and he was looking at her with concern.

She hugged herself again, the midnight hour casting a chill over the tower's stone walls. "I get nightmares sometimes and I can't sleep," she confessed.

His eyes flicked up and down her and then he held out his hand. "Come here, I want to show you something."

"We're not supposed to be out of bed after lights out," she scolded him, wringing her hands nervously, her voice hushed as she looked around to make sure no one else was awake and listening.

"Ah, don't be so sound. I'll keep an eye for the holy joes and we can leg it if they come sniffing around. What do you say?" he asked, still holding his hand out toward her.

She glanced around one more time, making sure no one had woken up to their hushed conversation, then she bit her lip and shuffled to him, taking his hand, excitement swirling around her. "Where are we going?" she asked softly as he led her down the hall in the direction of the libraries.

"You'll see when we get there..." he said back, slowing his pace to peer around a doorway and make certain no patrols were going by.

They made their way up to the second floor and past the mage's quarters into the laboratories. At the back of the farthest room, there was a small door that opened onto a wide balcony. Kilian pulled her outside into the chilly winter night and crept to a strange device mounted on a stand. It was a globe shaped object that had a narrow lens sticking up from it's top and one on the bottom. He put his eye to the narrow end of the bottom piece, peering through before turning the device and then tipping it upwards. He beckoned her over and motioned for her to look through it. She did, and saw the stars in the sky, almost so close she could touch them. She gasped and pulled away to glance at him. "What is this?"

"Enchanters call it an astrarium. They use it to chart the heavens. Right now it's pointed at one of the constellations... That's what they call the groups of stars that come together to make shapes. That particular one is called Draconis. Look close enough and you can see the dragon shape."

Philippa looked through the lens again and smiled, making out the body of the dragon with it's wings spread out. "Wow!" she said in awe as Kilian nudged her affectionately.

"I thought you might like that one, since you've got that wee dragon statue tucked away in your footlocker," he said with a chuckle.

"I wish I could see a real dragon," she mused softly. "Papa says there are only a few left in Thedas since the Nevarran Dragon Hunters hunted them nearly to extinction."

"To be fair, it was in the job description, lassie. But this _is_ the Dragon Age. 'haps you'll get a chance yet."


	4. Growing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa meets a new friend and they quickly get close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few time jumps through this chapter as the monotony of the Circle changes little from day to day.

Since the night that Kilian had showed her it was possible to get around the tower at night without being seen, each time Philippa had a nightmare, she would get up and creep around the stone corridors, looking for new and exciting things. She did not hear much from her family, save for a letter each year on her birthday which she would respond to regarding her progress in her studies, but leaving out the details of the nightmares and demons that still plagued her.

One year after she had arrived at the Circle, Kilian was moved to the older apprentice dormitory next door, and the following year, Finn and Brissa followed. They stopped having classes with them, but on the days that they were allowed outside, Philippa still got to see her friends. New apprentices would filter in here and there, some younger than her, and some that went directly to the older dormitories. The chores and lessons became routine, and Philippa quickly began to memorize every inch of the tower, discreetly exploring in her free time.

It felt like no time had passed before she had come upon her eleventh birthday. As usual, she was given the day off, free of classes and chores. She chose to spend her time in the common area near the basement reading a book. Near mid day, she was lying on her back, the book held above her and her legs crossed. A teasing sniff sounded to her left and she glanced from her book to see Finn wiping away an imaginary tear. "Look at you. Reading in your free time. I've never been prouder."

She smirked and uncrossed her legs, reaching out with her foot to kick at him playfully. He easily sidestepped, used to her attempts to dirty his always immaculate robes. In the four years they had known each other, she had come to see Finn as her best friend. In spite of their age difference, he had never treated her as less than him or acted as if he were better than she was. "I would much rather be outside, but I'll take what I can get. Imagined adventure..." she waved the book and smiled.

"Happy birthday, Phil," he said with a smile as she dropped her feet to the floor and then rolled her eyes when he shooed her to sit in the spot where her feet had been so he could sit on the less soiled side of the bench. He held out a handmade card and she took it with her own smile, giggling at his attempts at drawing.

Before she got a chance to read the neatly written words inside the card, a commotion sounded near the door to the hallway that circled the dormitories. She glanced up and the newly appointed Knight-Commander Greagoir was marching through the corridor, a fleet of more templars in tow, surrounding a young boy with strawberry blonde hair that was pulled half off his face, the other half falling out as if he had been in a scuffle. He sported a black eye on his left side and a scowl that seemed to be the best he could muster to hide the tears that were dripping down his face from his honey colored eyes. He was still growing into his nose it seemed, and his jaw was square, smoothly slipping into a strong but narrow chin. "Must be a new apprentice," Philippa guessed as the entourage passed by noisily, heading into the basement.

"Looks like he didn't come easily," Finn agreed.

Just then, Neria strutted up to them and stepped between Philippa and Finn, straddling the bench and dropping down to drape herself over Philippa's shoulders. Squeezing her tightly, she said, "Ooooh happy birthday, bunkie! What's say you and I head to the kitchens after lights out and nick us some sweet cakes?"

Philippa leaned into her friend and giggled. "That sounds like the best idea you've had."

Neria pulled back and curled her lip. "As in today or, like, ever? Because I have smashing ideas all of the time!"

Finn chuckled. "We're still waiting on that verdict, Neria."

Neria snorted. "See if I don't nick some fish as well and stuff them in your footlocker, Flora," she teased.

Finn turned green and immediately excused himself, making both Neria and Philippa fall into a fit of giggles. They were interrupted by Kilian approaching and pushing Neria away so he could hug Philippa. "How's the wee birthday lass?"

She sighed and fell into his hug. "Bored. It's nice to not have to work, but when everyone else is busy, it gets lonely."

"Well, how's about after supper, me and the others slip into your dorm and we play a few rounds of cards. I reckon you're old enough now for us to teach you the adult games," he suggested with a wink.

"Please," Faye said as she approached, her eyes rolling. "Like you're an adult just because you switched dorms."

He nudged Neria and grinned. "I'm old enough to know I shouldn't still be faffing with you chiselers. But here I am."

Brissa joined them as well and sat down beside Neria, her eyes wide. "Did you hear they brought a new apprentice in in chains?" she whispered.

"Hear?" Philippa shrugged. "I saw him."

Brissa inhaled, covering her mouth, her already wide eyes getting wider. "Did he look dangerous?"

Philippa closed her book, tucking Finn's card away to read later and shook her head. "He looked like we all did when we got here. Scared and alone."

"I heard some templars saying that it was his da that turned him in," Faye added, glancing toward the basement.

"Pisser," Kilian said with a scowl. "No one should turn their own son over to the templars."

"Language," Brissa scolded. "He was probably just scared. They said he was an Ander. They have different customs in the North."

Faye nodded lightly. "The templars said he accidentally set a barn on fire with his magic."

Brissa gasped again. "Did anyone get hurt?"

Faye shrugged. "They didn't say."

When three days had passed and 'the Ander' hadn't been assigned to either dormitory yet, Philippa felt her curiosity starting to get the better of her. Late one night, she slipped from her bed, using her usual method to sneak through the corridors undetected. When she reached the entrance to the basement, her palms began to sweat and her hands trembled. She had not stepped foot in the basement since she had first been brought to the Circle. It was generally not a place she wanted to remember.

It was pitch dark after she slipped through the heavy door, catching it before it slammed behind her. She drew on her magic, summoning a small wisp to hover over her right shoulder and provide her a light to see by. It was dim, but it would serve. She followed the single corridor, skirting the creepy sentinel armor suits that stood guard along the halls. She went deep into the basement, not remembering if they had taken her this far when they had put her in a cell. She was trembling with both fear and cold in the dank corridors, hoping she didn't get lost when the hallway began to split off like the branches off a tree trunk.

She kept to the left, instinctively following the path and was about to turn around when she came across a door. Vowing to turn around if she didn't find the cells behind the door, she quietly pushed it open. With a sigh of relief, she recognized the cage filled room. A light shuffling sound drew her attention to the first cell on her right. She approached the iron bars and peered in to see the young boy from her birthday staring back at her. The ring of bruising around his eye had faded to an ugly green-ish yellow color and the swelling had gone down. He was looking at her with curiosity and no small amount of anger. "Hello," she said softly, kneeling on the cold floor. He didn't respond, still glaring at her as if she were the cause of all of his problems. "My name is Philippa, but everyone just calls me Phil. What's your name?" Still no response. She reached into the pouch she had stuffed with extra rolls that she had taken from the table at supper and held them out to him, reaching her arm boldly into the cell. "Are you hungry? It's not much, but it might help. I've got an apple as well." His expression shifted closer to curiosity, but he didn't approach her. She unfolded a handkerchief and laid it on the floor just inside the bars, setting the food on top of it and backing up to sit on the floor a short distance from the cell. "I was afraid when I first got here, too," she rambled, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. "I was much younger than you... Not that I'm saying you shouldn't be scared, but it's not so bad once they let you out of the dungeons. I got sick while I was down here, and I woke up in the infirmary. I had no idea where I was, but Enchanter Wynne and First Enchanter Irving were very nice. It took a long time before I adjusted to being here..." she stopped talking and when she glanced back up at him, he was now watching her with one brow crooked upwards and a partial smirk on his face. When he saw her look up, he quickly wiped the expression away and went back to scowling. She harrumphed and got to her feet. "I really shouldn't be here. If I get caught, you might just have a cell mate. I'm certain you would love listening to me ramble all day and night, but I should be getting back to my bunk. You would have one of your own, perhaps, if you quit scowling at people. You'd better eat that food and hide the handkerchief when you're finished so they don't know someone was down here. Goodnight, 'Anders'," she said, giving him the nickname that the other apprentices had been calling him whenever the topic of the mysterious apprentice was broached.

She made her way back to the dorms, following the right and snuffing her wisp when she reached the doorway out of the basement. She crept back to her bed, the smirk from the strange boy following her into the Fade.

When he was finally brought from the dungeons two days later, he was placed in the senior apprentice dormitories with Finn, Kilian, and Brissa. According to Finn, he was just about as talkative as he had been in the dungeon. Philippa didn't see much of him until the day they were allowed outside. She noticed him shuffling out into the sun, the same scowl on his face as he had held that night in the dungeon. He moved to a bench on the far side of the yard, sitting down and crossing his arms. "Oooh he looks like a friendly one," Neria said with a chuckle as she watched him pouting rather formidably.

Shockingly, Finn had followed them into the sun and was watching the Ander as well. "He hasn't said a word to anyone all week. I'm starting to think he's a mute."

"Maybe he just hates wearing robes," Kilian suggested with a chuckle.

"It does take some getting used to," Philippa agreed with a smile. "I'm going to go talk to him."

Finn made a grunting sound to stop her, where anyone else might have grabbed her arm. "I think it would be more like talking 'at' him. You're not going to get a response."

She hadn't told any of her friends about her excursion into the basement, and she shrugged. "It can't hurt to try, right?"

She crossed the yard and could feel her friends watching her as she boldly approached the Ander and sat down on the opposite side of his bench, pulling her braid over her shoulder to dangle in front of her. He barely flinched, not looking in her direction even. His strawberry blonde hair had been washed, brushed and pulled back in a tail, but some of it still managed to fall out in wisps around his face, much like her own wild bangs.

"They let you out, I see. Was it for good behavior, or did you scowl them into submission?" she asked with a small smirk. Before he could stop it, a short snort left his nose which he quickly tried to cover up by shifting further from her to the edge of the bench. "All I had to do to get out of the cell was almost die of infection. You had it easy, Anders. If I could have scowled my way out, I definitely would have chosen that option. Though I don't think my scowl is quite as formidable as yours. What do you think?" She crossed her arms, twisting her expression into her best angry face and leaning forward so he would be forced to look at it. "No. Yours is definitely better. That makes my jaw hurt. How can you maintain that all day long? Are you not talking to me because I keep calling you Anders? I would gladly use your name if you would tell it to me. I'm a mage, not a mind reader..."

She continued on in that fashion, asking him questions which she then answered herself with increasingly ridiculous scenarios. Finally, when it was getting close to the time when they were to be called inside, he turned his head to her, his honey eyes twinkling with repressed mirth. "It wasn't the scowl..." he said in a raspy, unused voice.

She drew her head back, and pressed her lips together. "Pardon? I wasn't expecting sound to come from your mouth. Could you repeat that, Anders?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed, uncrossing his arms to bury his face in his hands before glancing at her again. "It wasn't the scowl that made your jaw hurt."

"Oh?" she asked with interest, celebrating her victory on the inside.

"Do you ever run out of things to say? Can't a person hate their life in peace? Or do you swoop in on every new apprentice's adjustment period and talk them deaf?" he asked, his own tone slipping into something resembling sarcasm.

"I haven't talked you deaf yet, though I'm flattered by your observation. I was just trying to show you that being in the Circle isn't nearly as bad as having to listen to me talk. Also, you might get a break from my voice if you would answer now and then."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a smirk. "You told me your name was Philippa?"

"Phil," she corrected. "That's what everyone calls me. What about you? Do you have a name, or shall I keep calling you Anders?"

He looked her up and down and smiled. "Anders should do just fine."

"If you say so. And for the record, Anders, I like your smile much better than your scowl, even if it did get you out of the dungeon."

Philippa saw Anders in passing sometimes, but it was rare that he would stop and talk if she was surrounded by her other friends. Adjusting to the Circle seemed to be much more difficult for him than she had ever seen it be for another apprentice. She spent a lot of time with her other friends, so each week, she would dedicate her outdoor time to Anders, giving him a shoulder to cry on, sometimes literally.

Her friends were not the only ones to recognize the effect she had on him. Six months after Anders had been brought to the Circle, he managed a feat that Philippa had not yet seen in her time there. He disappeared, managing to escape the island and make it to a nearby village before the templars recaptured him. Philippa was shocked when a few days later, after the templars brought him back, she was summoned to First Enchanter Irving's office. Anders was sitting in a chair in front of Irving's desk, his cheeks streaked in tears and a small embroidered pillow hugged to his chest. When Philippa sat down in the chair beside his, he slunk further into the chair and turned his face from her. "Do you know why I called you here, Miss Hawke?" The First Enchanter asked her softly, glancing briefly at Anders with pity. She shook her head, folding her hands in her lap. When she had first arrived at the Circle, she had expected every summons to the First Enchanter's office to be because she was in trouble for something. That had never been the case, so instead of panicking, she waited patiently for him to spell it out for her, as was his way. "Your instructors and the templars have noticed the relationship you have built with 'Anders' here. As we know, your transition into life at the Circle was anything but easy. After much talk, it has been decided that in spite of your age, you will be moving immediately to the senior apprentice dormitories. You are an adept student, and it is time you were assigned a mentor. Tomorrow morning, you will be evaluated in your progress with spells and sorted into new classes based on your strengths. This will allow you to take your friend under your wing and make his experience here more positive than it has been so far."

Philippa's jaw dropped as the room went silent and the First Enchanter studied her closely. She was uncertain what her response should be. She didn't mind the change in her classes or the change in her dorm, but was she truly capable of helping Anders settle in just by being close to him? "I... If you think that is best, First Enchanter."

"Good girl. Go ahead and pack up your things, your bunk will be below his. Anders, if you would show her the way..."

Anders cringed and turned away, his shoulders tense. Philippa stood, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Anders," she said gently.

He flowed from the chair like her touch attached a string to him, still clutching the embroidered pillow, and followed her from the office. She walked slowly, him no more than a step behind the entire way. He went with her to her dorm where she knelt by her footlocker and removed all of her things, clutching her glass dragon carefully in her palm. Finally, he took the lead, shuffling lamely from the room she had called home for the last four years and into the nearly identical room next door. His bunk was closer to the washroom than hers had been. She quietly put her things away and then sat down on the mattress that was now hers. She patted the space beside her and he dropped down, slouching as he sighed. "Go ahead and ask me," he said softly.

Without needing further permission, she laid a hand on his forearm. "Why did you try and escape?"

"I just wanted to go home," he responded. "I miss my mother, and my friends. I want to look my father in the face and ask him 'why'."

"Was he truly the one who turned you in to the templars?" she asked gently.

"My mother wanted to protect me. To hide my magic. But my father was afraid of me, of what I could do. Why couldn't he see that magic is a gift? His own son. A boy he raised for twelve years, given up because _he_ was afraid. I hate this place, Phil. It's like a prison... and not just the dungeons in the basement. I got away and they hunted me down and dragged me back. It isn't fair."

Anders slipped into tears and Philippa pulled him into a hug. She ran a hand through his hair, soothing like she remembered her Mama doing for her when she would get upset. "It doesn't have to be like that," she said gently. "I hated it at first, too. I was scared, alone, I missed my family... but then I made friends and I focused on my magic, and things got better. Slowly of course. But I promise, it will get better."

Philippa's evaluations were performed in the same small room she had been brought to by Wynne when they had roasted marshmallows together. The woman evaluating her this time around was not so kind as Wynne had been. She sat in a chair, parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, glaring at Philippa from her light brown eyes. Philippa stood with her hands at her sides, waiting. Finally, with a sigh, Enchanter Ines looked down at the paper in front of her. "I will call out a spell. Once you hear it, you will cast it to the best of your ability and I will record my observations. Understood?" Philippa nodded, already probing for her mana and plucking at the ends of the spindle. "Fireball."

Philippa lifted her palms, facing each other, ready to form the spell, but then she paused. "When you say to the best of my ability, do you not wish me to hold back?" Philippa always held back. It seemed that when she even slipped a tiny bit of extra mana into her spells, they ended up doing things like splintering perfectly good tables.

"This is an evaluation of your aptitude, not your power," Ines said with an un-amused scowl. Philippa nodded again in understanding and swiftly, but accurately, cast a small fireball and lobbed it at the iron dummy across the room. Making a mark on her paper, Ines continued without hesitation. "Arcane bolt."

The afternoon progressed, Philippa continuing to cast until her arms began to droop and she felt drained, her fingers cramping from forming the gestures to cast or summon. Sweat dripped from her brow and her breath was short. Ines paused in her demands and as she did so, Philippa flicked her fingers on her left hand back and forth and then twirled her wrist, casting a simple rejuvenation spell to help her replenish her mana, hoping Ines was almost finished.

The Enchanter glanced up at Philippa through her short bangs. "Please do not cast unless I ask you to. What was the spell you just used?"

"Rejuvenation. My mana was low," she explained, lowering her head and wringing her hands. She hadn't meant to make Ines upset.

Ines hummed. It was the first mildly interested sound she had made since she had sat down across from Philippa. "You seem to have a particular affinity for Creation magic, but your Primal scores are decent as well. I believe Wynne has room for a few more apprentices. I will speak with her. Maker forbid I assign you to her without asking first."

Philippa sighed in relief, glad that she was finished. "Thank you, Enchanter Ines, ma'am."

The woman got up from her chair and shooed Philippa. Philippa left the room and headed back to her new dormitory to get cleaned up before supper. She was famished after the exertion of a day full of spell-casting. She walked in to Anders, looking much more chipper than he had the day before. He was lounging on his bunk, reading a book as she approached. "You took forever!" he said when he saw her, closing up his book and turning so he was draped sideways across this mattress. He hung his head down to watch her rummaging for a change of clothing. His unruly hair fell to hang from his upside down head. "My evaluations only took an hour. Did you get assigned to an instructor?"

"Enchanter Ines said that she was going to ask Enchanter Wynne if she had room to take me on," she said with a shrug.

Anders wriggled backwards and hopped off the bunk to join her on the floor, his eyes sparkling. "I was given to Wynne right away! They said I had an affinity for healing."

Philippa was indeed given Wynne as a mentor, but with her aptitude for nearly every school of magic, she also worked very closely with Enchanter Torrin. He and Wynne divided her lessons up fairly so she would not be overwhelmed. She met the challenge head on.

For two years, her day started with an early morning breakfast where she had a brief period of time to talk with her friends, then she would head with Anders and Finn to Wynne's creation class where they studied both theory and practical application of magic in the Creation branch. Right after Creation, she hustled to the library where her history lessons with Enchanter Niall lasted until lunch. She would see a smattering of her friends at lunch, depending on the day and their own schedules, before she was off to the second floor where she had Herbalism, followed by Mathematics, and then her late afternoon class which she enjoyed the most. That was where she was taught what Enchanter Torrin called battle magic. It dealt in the offensive and defensive spells one might use in battle, and the uses of a staff to channel mana. She learned to shield herself from all sorts of attacks, as well as perform those same attacks against an opponent.

Once her classes would end, she would head to supper before her nightly chores and then she was free to relax with her friends in earnest. Neria, Jowan, and Faye had each moved up to the senior apprentice dorms in their own turn, just a few months after she had. They were all together again. Philippa had slowly integrated Anders into the fold. He was popular among the younger apprentices for his sleight of hand tricks that had nothing to do with real magic, and his ability to tell stories.

Philippa's dreams continued to plague her, making her a light sleeper. Anders was hyper aware of the fact. A few nights after she had moved to the senior dorms, he had woken when she did and asked her about the noises she would make in her sleep. Her other friends had become accustomed to her waking up in a cold sweat every now and then, and mumbling or sometimes shouting in her sleep. When she had explained to Anders about her nightmares, he had screwed up his face in sympathy. Now, whenever she would toss and turn, he would wake up, hop down to sit beside her on the edge of her bed and hold her hand until the nightmare passed, or she woke up. If she woke up, he was more than happy to scurry around the tower, exploring in the dark with her until they got tired again.

A few months after her thirteenth birthday, Philippa woke in the morning with her lower stomach aching. It was rare that she became ill enough to miss her classes, but she couldn't bear to drag herself from beneath her blankets. She could not get comfortable, even lying down, and her stomach churned. Glad that she was so indisposed on a weekday when her friends would not be around to see her running back and forth from her bed to the chamber pots, she sulked beneath her blankets, curled around her cramping stomach.

Around mid-morning, Wynne showed up in the dormitory, moving to kneel beside her bed. "Anders said you weren't feeling well, so I came to check on you and perhaps offer some herbs or healing to ease your suffering."

"You didn't have to come all of the way down here, Enchanter. I should be all right by tomorrow. It's just my stomach," Philippa insisted, sitting up. Suddenly, she had to go again, and she got up quickly and made her way to the washroom. She was both surprised and terrified when she discovered the splash of red that stained her small clothes. "Enchanter Wynne!" she cried, her voice choked. "Something's bleeding!"

Wynne stepped into the washroom, outside the stall she was using and stifled a small chuckle. "It's as I thought..."

"Give it to me straight. Am I dying? I'm dying, aren't I?" Philippa asked, wrapping her panic in the overabundance of sarcasm and wit that she had developed as she grew up. It was one of the reasons she and Anders got along so well. They both had an affinity for it.

Wynne did chuckle this time, speaking through the thin door of the stall. "No, child. You're not dying. I had hoped to spare you the concern you're feeling, but I was a bit late, it seems."

Philippa cleaned herself up and exited the stall, a palm pressed into her aching middle. "What's wrong with me?" she asked softly.

"Nothing is _wrong_ with you. You're growing up. Come with me and I'll get you sorted out properly." Philippa followed Wynne up to the third floor and to the infirmary. Wynne sat at the desk near the rear of the room and shuffled through the bottom drawer. "You are far from the first apprentice that I have had to have this talk with, and you will undoubtedly not be the last." She pulled out a wad of linens fashioned together into a thick rectangular mass. She offered it to Philippa who took it with her face twisted into a frown. "You will need that to line your small clothes." She paused as Philippa looked up at her, her brow raised in question. "As you know, women bear children. Such is the case whether you are nobility, commoner, or even a mage. When a female comes of age, usually in her early teenage years, her body begins to go through changes that show she is ready to bear children. One of those changes is the onset of her menstrual cycle. Once this cycle begins, she will continue to have it until she leaves her child bearing years. Once every month for a handful of days, she will bleed from her nether regions. It is a perfectly natural occurrence, and I am here to answer any questions you might have, or to equip you with whatever supplies you may need. There are herbs that can help to dull the ache so you can function, as well as others to calm the other unfortunate side effects," Wynne said with a sympathetic smile.

Along with her cycle, Philippa began to notice other changes to her body. She had always been tall and skinny as a kid, hitting her promised growth spurt not much longer after she had gone to the Circle. None of the boys in the senior dormitory had ever really paid her any mind when she moved there, but now that her hips were widening slightly, her waist thinning, and her chest slowly expanding, they were starting to notice. The first to point it out was predictably Kilian. "There is something different about you, Phil." He pressed his lips together in thought as his eyes flicked up and down her briefly. "I can't quite put my finger on it though."

With a roll of her eyes, Neria reached out and slapped Kilian in the back of the head. "You're only noticing that she's got tits."

Philippa felt her cheeks heating up and she looked down at her own chest before her eyes flicked from Kilian to both Finn and Anders who had turned as red as she had and averted their eyes politely as soon as the words fell from Neria's lips. Jowan on the other hand was staring at Neria with his mouth open. "Maker's breath," Philippa gasped, wrapping her arms around herself and huddling further down in her seat.

"What?!" Neria asked with a shrug. "Like it's some big, embarrassing secret? Brissa and I are elves. We're not likely to grow much of anything under our breast bands. And Faye is still too young. Phil's got the fancy new tits and you've all noticed."

"I did _not_!" Finn protested before he looked apologetically at Philippa and his cheeks reddened again. "I mean I did, but I wasn't... I didn't want to..." he pressed his lips together and stopped talking, looking away again.

Anders' eyes had returned to Philippa, and she swore she caught a tiny smirk on his face before he looked away again, going back to the book he had his nose in. "You are all terrible," Philippa protested, huffing.

Her dreams that night were haunted by mocking faces that taunted and attempted to enrage her. The demon behind the charade was difficult to be rid of, and when Philippa finally dragged herself from the dream, it was to see Anders sitting beside her like he normally did when she had a nightmare, his fingers clasped in hers. When she sat up, he shifted so she could swing her legs off the edge of the bed. She tipped her head to the side so he would follow her. They headed for the corridor, checking for templars before slipping into the darkened tower and walking confidently in the pitch black. They both knew every twist and turn of Kinloch Hold so well that they could have walked it in their sleep. She fiddled with her braid that hung over her shoulder, suddenly hating how juvenile the style was. She hadn't cut her hair in years, holding on to it as some odd proof of loyalty to her mother. She diverted their course, heading for the stock room. She knew the tranquil kept strict hours and would not be anywhere near the second floor. "Where are we going?" Anders asked quietly, following close behind her.

"There's something I've been meaning to do for a very long time..." she alluded, slipping into the dark stockroom. She paused and concentrated, chancing a small wisp to light her way in the unfamiliar space. She easily found what she was looking for and pulled the scissors from their place. They would never be missed.

She stifled the wisp and tugged Anders from the stock room, heading back to the dormitory and a mirror. When she sat at the vanity, she glared for a moment at the braid before taking it in her hand and cutting as close to her head as she could get. She didn't care for even or neat. She wanted different. She dropped the braid onto the vanity as it began to unravel, Anders watching with nothing more or less than curiosity. She reached for the bangs that hung over her face, but Anders reached out and took the scissors. He sat beside her on the narrow bench and began to cut choppy layers into the back of her hair, leaving the bangs alone. After only a few strokes of the scissors, his fingers ran through her hair and she found herself shuddering. His hand stopped, his fingers still in her hair. "I'm sorry," he said, pulling his hand away. She spun to look at him and take his receding hand in hers.

"Don't be," she said with an awkward chuckle, not certain what her hands were doing wrapped around his.

"Did... did you like it when I touched you?" he asked sheepishly. She nodded, her cheeks flushing, and she was glad for the dim lighting in the room. He set the scissors down with a light clink of metal against wood, and used the hand she wasn't clutching to brush the bangs from her eyes and then run it through her hair again. She leaned into his touch and he put a gentle pressure on her head as his fingers slipped behind her ear. "Shorter hair really suits you," he mumbled softly. He pulled her to him, lightly touching his lips against hers.

She was unsure of what to do. She knew what a kiss was, of course, but no one had ever kissed her before. Her hands stiffened around his, and she sat frozen, her eyes staring into his, so close that she could only focus on one at a time without her eyes crossing. She waited for him to do something. He had initiated this after all. After a moment, he tipped his head so their noses wouldn't collide, and moved even closer, the light touch turning into a gentle press. His lips were soft against hers and the taste of the tiny confections they had for dessert lingered on his breath. He opened his mouth and his tongue traced between her lips, beckoning her to part them. She hesitantly obliged, allowing him to withdraw his tongue and take her bottom lip between his. Something clicked and she closed her own mouth around his upper lip. A soft hum from his throat urged her to continue. Her heart was fluttering nervously as she concentrated on making certain she was doing this right. They moved their lips together, only for a few moments more before he pulled away.

"I like you, Phil. A lot," he said, dropping the hand that had been in her hair and settling it atop hers.

"Really?" she asked, drawing back and smirking crookedly as her heart slowed. "I couldn't tell."

"Maker's breath, do you need to be such an ass?" he said with a chuckle.

"Would you like me if I wasn't?" she asked breathily.

He screwed up his face as if he were thinking about it, his own smirk shining through the ruse. "No, probably not."


	5. Self Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa's life takes leaps and hurdles as she learns some things about herself.

Her new hair style was a big hit among her friends the next day as they all trundled outside into the sunshine. Anders mentioned nothing of what had happened the night before, discreetly throwing her knowing glances that made her heart leap and butterflies erupt in her stomach. She caught herself watching him on more than one occasion while her friends talked around her, barely able to keep up with the conversation in her distraction. Finally, Faye nudged her. "Did you hear there are a few new apprentices in the children's dormitory? They said one of them is barely six. Poor girl."

She glanced over at the red head, tearing her eyes from Anders and nodded. "I was actually considering a position that Wynne suggested for me. She said that they were assigning a few of the older apprentices to look after the younger ones. She thinks I would be good at it."

"You're taking on _more_ responsibilities?" Anders asked in shock. "We hardly see you as it is."

She shrugged. "It would only be for a few hours after dinner to get them settled in to bed. You know how scary it can be at first."

His expression twisted into a scowl. "What child wouldn't be afraid if they were ripped away from their family and stuffed in a dungeon?"

Philippa rolled her eyes and hung her head as Neria snorted. "Stop being so bitter. We all went through it."

"That's my point!" he growled angrily.

A few of the plated templars turned their way as his voice rose and Jowan grunted. "Maybe not so loudly?"

Philippa sighed. "If you don't think I should accept the job, I won't."

Neria's upper lip curled. "Why should you care what he wants? If it'll make you happy to chase around little snot nosed children, I say do it."

Philippa glanced up again. "Finn, what do you think?"

Finn shuddered. "I think children are harbingers for germs."

"Thanks," Philippa said with a smirk. "Very helpful."

After weighing her feelings, Philippa decided to accept Wynne's offer. She and another girl named Petra, and a boy named Kinnon took on the responsibilities of helping the younger students with their chores and settling them in for lights out. Petra was a soft spoken red head with almost purple eyes. She walked with an air of rigidity and always kept her shoulder length hair pulled back in a neat tail. Kinnon had red-brown hair that was cut short, but still managed to fall into his face. His brown eyes were friendly and he smiled easily.

On her first evening on duty, Philippa made it a point to seek out the youngest children that had just arrived and check in on them. One was a city elf that had been born in an alienage. His name was Eadric. The young girl that Faye had mentioned was named Solona. Her auburn hair and striking green-blue eyes were certainly hard to ignore when she set them on you. Her last name, Amell, struck Philippa as familiar, but she could not place quite where she had heard it before. The girl had come all of the way from Kirkwall. Her family was nobility in the city, so she was not placed in the Circle in the city-state for fear that she would be given too much leniency.

Solona was quiet, huddled on her bunk and crying softly. "Hi there," Philippa said sweetly as she moved to sit on the edge of the mattress. "My name is Phil. You're Solona, right?" The little girl nodded quietly. "Are you crying because you're scared, or because you miss your family?" Another nod. "You know, I was only a year older than you are now when I came to the Circle. I was pretty scared, too, and I missed my parents loads. After I was here for a little while, I met some other kids around my age, and I made friends. It made me realize that even though I couldn't see my family anymore, there was always going to be someone that I could turn to. You don't ever have to be alone here."

The little girl looked up at her, dropping her arms from around her shins and scooting closer. "I'm scared of the templars, messere."

Philippa chuckled. "I was, too, but they aren't so bad. They won't pay you any mind as long as you behave and mind your instructors. I promise."

Solona brushed the tears from her cheeks and smiled sweetly. "I like you, Phil."

Philippa chuckled. "I like you, too."

A hand shook her shoulder as she tried to sleep in on her first day off in months. Philippa groaned and rolled over, pulling her blanket over her head. "Phil, get up!" Finn's voice broke through the last whispers of the Fade as her mind slipped back to reality.

She groaned again and then sighed. "Maker's tears, someone had better be dying," she grumbled as she rolled to swing her legs over the edge of her bed. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

"Phil, he's done it again. Anders is gone!" Finn said quickly, his voice fraught with worry.

She snapped her attention to Finn who was standing in front of her, his hands wringing nervously. Her heart sunk into her gut. She knew he had been upset when she had taken on her new responsibilities, but to use it as a reason to try and escape again was madness. She sighed heavily. "The idiot does know how phylacteries work, right? Are the templars on his trail yet?"

"I heard them gathering near the front door. They said no one had seen him since supper last night. Phil, this is the second time he's managed to get away..." Finn reminded her.

She nodded solemnly. "I was supposed to be watching him. This is my fault." Her stomach flipped and a single tear slipped down her cheek. "Maker... Finn, what if they decide he's too much trouble and make him tranquil?"

"This isn't your fault, Phil. Anders is a big boy. He doesn't need you holding his hand every second of the day."

She gasped, lifting her fingertips to her lips where she remembered his mouth pressed against hers. "He kissed me... and then I took that position, leaving practically no time in my schedule for him. He must think I hated him. Oh, Finn, this really is my fault!"

Finn drew back from her. "You said he what!? You and Anders..." Finn's face went ashen. "Oh... with your lips. Oh, Phil... no. I need to sit down." Finn collapsed on the bed across from hers, his head between his knees.

"You can't say anything. We'd be in so much trouble if anyone found out," she begged, panicking.

Finn looked up at her. "I don't even want to _think_ about your mingling germs, let alone tell anyone else about it." He shuddered.

"You really should try it. It's nice," she said teasingly.

"You're disgusting!" he groused, cringing as the thought whisked across his mind again.

She sighed as her thoughts returned to Anders. "If they manage to bring him back in one piece, I think I'm going to give my position up to another apprentice. That girl Keili expressed an interest..."

"Why should you give up something you love doing because it hurt Anders' feelings?" Finn asked seriously.

She buried her face in her hands. "I don't know what to do, Finn. I do know that I'm going to give Anders a serious talking to when he gets back."

It was three days before the templars marched Anders back in the front door. Philippa heard about it while she was in her herbalism class, the group marching past the classroom in a loud parade of clanging armor. She caught sight of Anders' strawberry blonde hair amidst the mass of metal and dropped what she was doing immediately to rush from the room, Enchanter Ines calling after her angrily. When she caught up to them, the templars were shoving Anders into the First Enchanter's office. Greagoir's second in command, Knight-Captain Hadley, tried to block her from following. "This doesn't concern you, apprentice."

"It very much does!" she protested, slipping past him. He hadn't been prepared for her to put up a fight and glanced apologetically at Greagoir as she stomped through the doorway and stopped beside Anders, in front of First Enchanter Irving's desk.

Greagoir sighed, understanding her role in the situation and pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation between his metal clad fingers. "It's all right Hadley. I can handle this from here. The rest of you, report to the barracks for assignments."

Philippa crossed her arms beneath her still blossoming chest and set a glare on Anders. He had the good sense to cow under her scrutiny as Irving looked between the two of them. "It was my understanding that everything was going swimmingly, master Anders. Might I ask why you found the need to force nearly all of our templars to leave the tower to hunt for you, again?" Irving asked calmly.

Anders shrugged. "I was bored. Wanted some adventure," he said cheekily.

"Mages of the Circle, apprentices especially, are not permitted adventure," Greagoir said sternly. "Why you choose to flaunt the rules in such a spectacular fashion is beyond me. Maker knows what you could have caused outside these walls and templar supervision."

"Now, now, Greagoir," Irving said. "The boy meant no harm. He is simply restless. We were both young once. We know what it's like to be cooped up in the tower."

Philippa stepped forward. "First Enchanter, if I may... I take full responsibility for Anders' actions. You placed him in my care, and I allowed myself to become distracted from my duty..."

"I'm not your 'duty', Phil," Anders grunted. "I make my own choices. The consequences are on me."

She cut her eyes at him, but before she could say another word, Irving spoke again. "In light of the fact that in his brief absence, Anders did not cause any harm to anyone, I believe a slap on the wrist is sufficient. Perhaps remove his outdoor privileges for a month?"

Greagoir's face went red, but he did not argue. "If you think that is sufficient, Irving, I won't question."

Irving nodded with a half smile. "You two may leave."

Philippa told hold of Anders bicep and spun, dragging him with her. She pressed her lips together, grinding her teeth until she had led him to a quiet section of the common room that was basically deserted at that time of day. "What in the Void were you thinking?!" she nearly shrieked. "You can't keep running away like this! How may times do you think Greagoir is going to stand by and allow First Enchanter Irving to give you a slap on the wrist? I was worried sick for days! What if they had killed you? Or made you tranquil so they wouldn't have to deal with you trying to escape again?" She ranted, her breathing coming more and more rapidly as the scenarios unfolded in her mind. When she glanced at him, his expression enraged her, her mana briefly uncoiling before she swallowed the urge to lob a fireball at his face. _My magic will serve the best in me, not that which is most base._ The longer she was in the Circle, the more her father's words made sense. "What in the Void are you smirking at?"

"You were worried about me?" he asked teasingly.

"Oh, for... Of course I was, you idiot... stop smirking," she reached out and punched his upper arm.

"You're adorable when you're upset," he teased again, catching the hand she had used to punch him and lacing his fingers with hers.

She snatched her hand back, a spark of excitement and fear lancing through her at the thought of being caught fraternizing. "You're not allowed to be charming when I'm angry with you."

He chuckled in his throat, low and amused. "Am I allowed to kiss you when you're angry with me?"

"No!" she growled, barely able to hide the smile that threatened to break through. "It's the middle of the day and this is the common room! You're barking mad!"

His brow quirked. "So if it was the middle of the night and we were alone..."

She crossed her arms and scowled. "Shut it..." she said halfheartedly.

Philippa's dreams were becoming increasingly vivid and frequent. It seemed like every night, she was dragging herself from the Fade with increasing difficulty. Since his escape and subsequent return, Philippa and Anders' relationship had begun to blossom with deep affection. They were extremely careful in how they showed that affection, frightened of being caught. Whenever she had a nightmare, however, without fail, Anders was there. One night after a particularly frightening dream, he climbed from his bunk as he usually did, but instead of just holding her hand, he scooted her over, making room for himself and laid down behind her. His left arm slipped beneath her own and around her waist to pull her against him. "Hush, Phil," he whispered, his breath warm on her neck. "It's all right. I'm here."

Her fifteenth birthday was rapidly approaching and Philippa had finally found her stride with her busy schedule. Her friends noticed the fact that she was much more present in spite of having a million things to do. She kept herself busy so she could be exhausted at the end of each day. It was a sure way to get at least a few hours sleep before the demons found her.

As was the norm, she was given her birthday as a rest day, allowed to do as she wished. She got her annual letter from her parents, and card from Finn, as well as a few little hand made gifts from her other friends including a red, braided bracelet that Solona made her. She called it a friendship bracelet. Philippa wore it proudly.

Anders spent the day teasingly postponing giving her the gift he had gotten her. Finally, that evening after supper, she confronted him in the library as he searched the shelves behind the index stands for whatever he was researching. "My birthday is almost over, you know."

"Was today your birthday? I completely forgot," he said with a smirk.

"You ass," she grunted, shoving his shoulder lightly. "You've been stringing me along all day. I'm dying to know what you think is so brilliant that it deserves such a build up."

He rolled his eyes, abandoning his hunt and approaching her. "You are insufferable!" she said jokingly.

"I've been told that. Now, gimme," she said with a pout, her bottom lip sticking out.

He chuckled, briefly tracing his finger tip over her pout, biting his own lip lightly as he studied her face. The one kiss they had shared before had opened up a world of possibilities, but they had never followed the path into the realm again. "Close your eyes," he said, pulling his finger away before someone saw. She obliged, briefly opening one of her lids as he shuffled in the pocket of his robes. "No peeking," he scolded with a light chuckle. She closed her eyes again, her smile spreading. After a few more moments and more rustling, he spoke again. "All right, open."

She fluttered her eyes open and looked at him. He was holding up a small hand crafted collection of feathers, thin metal wire, crystals and string. Magic hummed around it and she marveled at it's beauty. "It's lovely," she gasped, reaching out to run her fingers along the soft feathers that dangled from the bottom.

He chuckled softly. "You have no idea what it is," he teased lightly.

"True," she agreed with her own smirking chuckle. "But I still think it's pretty."

He held out his opposite palm and draped it over his hand. "The Chasind invented these to help ward off nightmares. It's mostly superstitious rubbish, but I enchanted the crystals and traced a glyph of warding into the net." She could see the intricate detail as he pointed out the glyph. "It's called a dream-catcher. Normally you hang them above your bed and they're meant to catch the bad dreams and allow the good ones through. I made yours a bit smaller so you could take it wherever you go." He picked the cord back up and draped it around her neck to secure it as a necklace.

Philippa traced her fingers over his work before tucking it beneath her robes and feeling the magic humming across her skin. "I've never gotten a better gift, Anders," she said. Heedless of where they were, she took his hand and pulled him behind the stacks. "Thank you," she whispered before lifting her hands to run her fingers through his hair, loosening it so some of his wispy bangs fell into his face. Then she pulled him to her, more confident of what to do with her mouth this time around. When their lips met, he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her against him before backing her into the bookshelves they were hidden behind. After a moment, he moved from her lips to lay gentle kisses along her jaw. He was making his way toward her neck, fluttering over her rapid pulse when someone cleared their throat. "Shit," she cursed, pushing him away, her face flushing.

He grunted before the third party spoke. "I am going to pretend that I did not just catch my two best apprentices locked in a carnal embrace. We all know how the Circle views fraternization."

"I'm sorry, Enchanter Wynne. It won't happen again," Philippa stuttered, swallowing the odd feelings that he had stirred in her as his lips traced her skin. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

"I should hope not. I don't want to see you two making the same mistakes that I did in my youth. That is a painful road," Wynne cautioned. She looked between the two of them, her lips pursed for a moment before she set her attention solely on Philippa. "Oh, and happy birthday, Miss Hawke."

"Thank you," she mumbled quietly, her face burning as she lifted her arms and hugged herself.

Philippa's heart was racing as Anders pushed her up against the deserted nook hidden deep in the library stacks. It was late at night and she could hardly see her hands before her, let alone the other person that was groping her rear. Her mind was buzzing uncomfortably, but she blocked out the sensation. He was so much more sure than he had ever been, so much more rough. As he kissed along her jaw, she hummed in contentment until she felt his teeth sink into her neck. "Ouch!" she protested, pushing him back some.

"I'm sorry, Phil," he said, diving right back in to grazing her neck with his teeth. "I can't help it. I want you so badly."

"Maybe we should slow down," she suggested, as he caught a sensitive spot on her neck and made her moan, nearly melting in his arms.

"Come on, you know you like what I'm doing. Lift your skirt, and I'll make you moan so loudly we draw the templars out of hiding. Let me in, Phil..."

Suddenly, Philippa drew back, pushing him away again. "No. What is wrong with you?" Something flickered in Anders' eyes and Philippa eased to the side, moving so she was no longer pinned to the bookshelves. "I'm going to bed," she said, still backing up.

"Good idea, let's go together," he growled moving after her and grabbing her around the waist.

This was not her Anders. Philippa twisted in his arms and shoved him back again, the intensity of her throbbing head building. "I said no. Leave me be," she cried, reaching up and grabbing a chunk of her flesh and pinching hard.

She sat up in her bed, gasping heavily and looked around. For once, Anders was not sitting at her side, and he hadn't climbed into the bed beside her. She was almost glad. The dream had been so vivid that she could still feel his hands on her. She reached up and cupped the spot on her neck where he had bitten, her fingers lighting on the cord that held her dream-catcher. After a moment to slow her breathing, she frowned. If Anders was not with her, where was he? She slipped out from under her blankets and peered up into his bunk. It was empty. Momentarily, she believed he might just be in the privy until she noticed the absence of his hand embroidered pillow. "Shit!" she cursed, realizing that he had likely taken it upon himself to make another escape attempt for some reason or another.

She dressed quickly and darted from the dormitories, heading for the only exit she knew about, hoping he hadn't gotten far enough to actually leave yet. When she didn't find him, she mumbled another curse and hurried through the familiar halls, heading for the mages' quarters. Finding the right room, she skidded to a halt and knocked as loudly as she dared in the late hour. She didn't want to wake the entire tower. After nearly five minutes, the door finally came open. When Wynne saw her, her eyes widened. "What ever is the matter, child?"

She spoke around her racing heart. "I... I woke up from... from one of my nightmares, and I saw... I didn't see him, actually... It's Anders... he's missing."

Wynne opened her mouth to speak, but then pressed her lips together in annoyance. "That boy..." she harrumphed. "Are you certain he's gone?" Wynne asked cautiously.

"I wouldn't have come if I weren't sure. Anders has never missed one of my nightmares unless he was not in the tower..." Philippa explained.

Wynne's expression shifted and her brows knitted together as if her tired brain were only then picking out what Philippa had been saying. "You never told me you had nightmares."

Philippa hugged herself. "I've had them ever since I can remember. Almost every night. Sometimes they wake me, like tonight."

"What sort of nightmares are they, child?" Wynne pulled her gently into her room and offered her a seat, the topic of Anders being gone completely forgotten.

Philippa sat in the offered chair and shrugged. "I thought all mages dreamt of spirits trying to possess them..."

Wynne gasped. "It does happen, of course, but never in the frequency you speak of. How have you resisted possession for so long?"

"The demons try to trick me. When I was little, I had certain words to listen for. They have never tried to come to me as someone I do not know, so as I got older, I learned to suss out particular cues and personality quirks. If I'm ever unsure, I pinch myself. That normally wakes me from the dream," Philippa explained, suddenly feeling like she had come to Wynne bare assed naked. Talking about her dreams always made her feel vulnerable. Weak. "I'm sorry, Enchanter Wynne, but what about Anders?"

Wynne glanced back at her from where she had been staring thoughtfully into space. "Right, of course. I will alert the templars. At this point, I think Greagoir keeps his phylactery on his person." She said with sarcasm. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to remain here so we can discuss your nightmares further."

Wynne quickly got up and swept out of the room, leaving Philippa alone to stare after her. What was so intriguing about her dreams? Father had never found them particularly interesting. He had taught her to repel the lies. It had worked for her so far.

After what felt like ages, Wynne returned with a tome in her hands. "Have you ever heard of the Somniari, child?"

Philippa shook her head. "No. It sounds... Tevinter?"

Wynne looked up from the tome as she sat down across from Philippa and smiled with what looked like pride mixed with amusement. "I see you actually listen when young Finn prattles on. That's right, it is Tevinter. It means 'dreamer'. The Somniari are a particularly powerful and extremely rare type of mage. Not only are they able to cast very potent spells, but they have the ability to enter the Fade at will, and manipulate the dreams of others. They can quite literally shape the Fade around them."

"That sounds amazing, but I have never been able to do any of those things," Philippa pointed out with a frown.

"Do you not remember smashing an entire table when all you wanted to do was flatten a ball? You are adept at nearly every spell put in front of you, and even I must admit that I have never seen anyone cast spirit healing spells quite so quickly. It's almost as if the spirits are hovering around you, waiting to assist," Wynne listed, ticking off her points on her fingers. "All Somniari attract spirits because their connection to the Fade is so deep. I believe that may be the reason for your constant nightmares."

Philippa looked down at her own hands. She always held back, afraid of what her power might be capable of doing if she was not careful. Closing her fists, she looked back at Wynne. "You said Somniari are extremely rare. Why is that?"

Wynne sighed and closed the tome, laying it in her lap. "Because they attract demons, many dreamers eventually succumb to demonic possession, becoming abominations. It takes a very strong mind to survive possession, and usually by the time the demons finally catch up with the dreamer, their minds have been weakened to the point of nothingness. The demon obliterates the host's mind, taking full control of their body and their magic."

"What does this mean for me?" Philippa squeaked in terror.

Wynne reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. "I will need to do a bit more research to be certain I'm not jumping to conclusions, but if I am correct, First Enchanter Irving will likely force your Harrowing much earlier than expected. In the meantime, I know of some herbs that I believe Ines has on hand that will preclude sleep and block you from the Fade to be safe."

Philippa let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "I... I won't be... I won't be made tranquil?"

Wynne hummed a soft chuckle. "Not if I can do anything to prevent it. You are an excellent student, and from what I understand Enchanter Torrin agrees. It would be a waste of talent to place that brand on your forehead."

"Thank you, Enchanter Wynne," Philippa smiled lightly before her mind went back to worrying. She pulled her hand from Wynne's so she could wring her own fingers together nervously. "What do you think they will do to Anders once they find him?"

Wynne sighed heavily. "I honestly don't know. Irving seems to have a soft spot for the boy, Maker knows why, but I'm not certain Greagoir will allow much more leniency."

Philippa reached up, brushing the single tear that slipped down her cheek quickly away. "He doesn't want to hurt anyone. He just... He doesn't like being 'caged'," she explained, using the word that Anders had when describing their time in the tower.

"Anders is a charismatic boy. From what I understand, he is nearly as popular with the young ones as you are. If he grew up as the center of attention, it's likely that he will view the Circle as a prison for a very long time. Even forever perhaps. All we can do is try our best to make the Circle a home for him." Wynne paused and looked Philippa up and down. "It's odd, however, that he would choose tonight to attempt an escape after what I witnessed in the library."

Philippa flushed, picking at the hem of her sleeve. She knew Anders and his moods and now that she thought about it, it made perfect sense. "It's likely _because_ we got caught," she explained. "Anders clings to the pillow his mother gave him over everything in his life. It is the _one_ thing that, in his mind, can't be taken away. When you walked in on us in the library, he saw that as _me_ being taken from him, just like everything else. Now, instead of playing the rebel in the most logical sense and trying to continue our relationship in secret... Which I would never do of course!" she said, covering her mouth and flushing harder. When Wynne simply set a knowing smile on her, she cleared her throat and continued. "Anders decided to try and push me away, make me angry with him, so that he doesn't have anything that the Circle can take away."

Wynne blinked. "How you figured that out, I'll never understand."

Philippa giggled. "Anders really isn't that difficult to understand. When his personal freedoms are attacked, he lashes out." She shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He didn't come here as young as most of us. He was used to a normal life outside the Circle, and no one ever said that Anders could be accused of being well adjusted."

"I will take your word for it," Wynne said, chuckling. Then she gathered the tome in her hands and stood. "Go back to your bed, child. In the morning, I will do a bit more reading and speak with Ines about getting you on an herbal regimen to keep you from sleeping without wearing out your body. Then I will bring my suspicions to Irving and see what he thinks."

Philippa stood. "Thank you again, Enchanter Wynne." She tipped her head respectfully and left to head back to her bunk. If she as going to be deprived of sleep for the foreseeable future, she planned on getting as much as she could before the morning.

As it turned out, it was not the foreseeable future. When the implications of her being a Somniari were brought to the attention of the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander, she was scheduled for a Harrowing as soon as they could gather all they needed. According to Wynne, she would be one of the youngest apprentices to be put through the Harrowing in recent history.

Anders managed to elude the templars for over a week this time around. When they returned him, he was sent to the dungeons for three days as punishment. Philippa didn't see him until supper on the day he was released. She came from her class with Enchanter Torrin, gathered her tray, and headed to sit with her friends. She parked herself beside Finn who was daintily spreading butter on his roll. "I. Am. Exhausted," she complained, slapping Kilian's hand as he reached for her roll.

"It's true, Phil. You look good and knackered. I'll bet you can't wait until you get Harrowed so you can pop off and have a kip," Kilian teased.

"I still can't believe you're taking your Harrowing so soon," Jowan said with awe, picking at his own supper. "It'll be ages before they let me take mine."

"I reckon Kilian should be taking his soon, too," Neria pointed out. "You're practically an old man in the apprentice dorms."

Kilian flicked a pea from his fork in Neria's direction that missed her and landed in Brissa's lap. "There are heaps more apprentices that are older than me."

"They don't let you take your Harrowing until you're ready," Faye reminded everyone.

Brissa frowned. "If you pass your Harrowing, Phil, what happens after that? You're so young. Will you stay in the dorms, or are they going to move you to the mages' quarters?"

"Oh!" Faye gasped, covering her mouth. "Will they give you apprentices to mentor?"

Just then, Anders shuffled up sheepishly, his tray in hand. Philippa ignored him completely, shrugging. "I would assume I still have plenty to learn, so I won't be given my own apprentices. As for the move, I have no idea."

"You're moving?" Anders asked, his voice choked.

She deigned to glance at him, her eyes narrowed in a glare. "Well, look who came back," Finn said dryly. "Enjoy the fresh air?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Anders replied, wiping away the concerned look on his face and adopting his usual snarky facade. "You should try it some time. Though I don't think your delicate constitution would be able to handle the trip across the lake, Flora."

"Hey!" Philippa interjected. "Just because you're sore that the templars caught you, again, doesn't mean you can stroll back in here and be a tit!" Her heart started to hammer as his expression fell. He had to know that picking on Finn was going to make her mad. So why was he looking so apologetic? Frustrated, she stood and snatched her untouched tray from the table. "Since you missed so much in your absence, let me fill you in. I'll be taking my Harrowing in a few days. If you even care. If you leave now, maybe you'll miss it... Just like you missed me finding out that I am apparently some rare and terrifying kind of mage that, if I survive to adulthood without going insane, will one day be able to shape the very Fade around me." When she was finished, she turned on her heel and stormed off, her head spinning. In spite of the herbs, her body needed rest.

She took the few portable things from her tray and discarded the rest, leaving the dining hall. Eating on the way to the children's dormitory, she tried to put Anders out of her mind. He was always in a sour mood when he returned to the Circle, and she tended to allow that to rub off on her. She stepped into the dormitory and was greeted by a squeal of excitement. "Phil!"

Solona barreled into her, wrapping her arms around Philippa's waist. Philippa chuckled as she hugged the rambunctious eight year old. "It's good to see you too, Sol."

"We heard about your Harrowing. Are you going to leave us after you're a real mage?" Solona asked.

Philippa drew herself out of the hug, resting her hands on Solona's narrow shoulders. "Well, I should hope not! I would miss you all too much!"

"And we would miss you picking up the slack when Kinnon gets lazy," Petra said with a soft chuckle as the two of them entered the room.

"Speaking of lazy, have you all started on your chores yet, or were you waiting for me to have to tell you what to do?" Philippa asked with a gentle scolding behind her tone.

"Sorry, Phil," Solona said sheepishly.

"Well, get on with it so we can get to the fun stuff," she urged, hustling the children to work.

That night after lights out, Philippa laid on her side in her bunk, wide awake because of the herbs she had taken. Anders hadn't tried to speak to her when he'd gone to bed, leaving her with no clue as to where they stood. She liked him a great deal, but she knew that nothing real could ever come of them being together. All it was likely to get them was a few stolen trysts in the night and trouble. Mages couldn't marry, couldn't bear children, couldn't leave the Circle. Their lives were far from normal, so why should she expect a normal relationship? Friendship should be good enough, but her body was yearning for more. She liked the feel of his lips on hers, and the way he stroked her hair. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relive their passionate kiss in the library.

She nearly leapt out of her skin when his feet hit the floor just beside where her head laid. He crouched down and swiftly placed his hand over her mouth before her startled yelp could escape. His forefinger on his opposite hand pressed his own lips closed in a signal for quiet. Swallowing her heart back into her chest, she nodded and he took his hand from her mouth. "Maker's breath, Anders, what are you doing?" she hissed softly. She glanced around, making sure none of the other apprentices all around were stirring.

"Scoot over," he nudged her gently. She pressed her lips together in annoyance and glared at him. "Please?" he asked more softly. "We need to talk."

"Is here really the best place?" she asked, glancing around again.

"It's just talking," he said, nudging her again. "I can be quiet if you can."

Still glaring, she flicked her eyes up and down him and then sighed. She inched toward the opposite edge of her bed and he lifted the blankets and slipped beneath them. On the narrow bed, their bodies couldn't help but touch. She laid her head down on the pillow, her hands beneath her cheek and he mirrored her. They stared at each other for a moment, his eyes reflected the barely there glow of the light crystals in the washroom. "You wanted to talk?" she prompted.

"More like I wanted to apologize," he said softly. "I don't know what this is between us, but I do like you, and I don't like when you're upset with me."

"That's an easy fix," she said sarcastically. "Stop doing things that upset me."

He harrumphed lightly. "You know I hate it here. The fact that I can feel these things for you and not be allowed to express them in the way we deserve as human beings... It's just... It's infuriating, Phil."

She reached out, placing her upper hand on his cheek. "Running away from the Circle is not going to give us a chance to be together, you know," she pointed out with a muffled chuckle. "Especially if you leave the other party behind."

"Then come with me next time," he urged.

She pulled her hand away and sighed. "No, Anders. There shouldn't _be_ a next time. And I'm... where I belong. This power I have... or will have... I don't know what I'll be capable of..."

He took her fallen hand between his and kissed over her fingers. "You're not dangerous, Phil. No more dangerous than you were yesterday. Just because you know what you are doesn't change _who_ you are."

She squeezed his hand and huddled closer to him. "Sweet talker," she accused with a half smile.

She felt him shudder with laughter that he muffled into her pillow. "Would you like to taste just how sweet my lips are?"

"Oh, sweet Maker," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Get out of my bed..." she shoved him playfully.

He wrapped his arms around her, refusing to be moved. She suddenly felt exactly how close they were as his lips captured hers around his teasing smile. She allowed the kiss, lifting her leg to drape it over his and pull him even closer. As his body brushed against hers beneath her blankets, something hard got between them, prodding her thigh. He hissed lightly and pulled away. "I'm sorry, Phil. I... I didn't mean... I'm sorry."

She wondered what had him so flustered as he quietly apologized, inching away from her. "What's the mat..." She paused as it dawned on her and her eyes widened. "Oh..." She felt heat rise to her cheeks and she glanced around, listening for anyone else that might be stirring. Was it so bad that he had reacted to her in that way? She knew he cared for her, and she had entertained feelings for him. Why shouldn't they? "No," she found herself saying. "It's okay..."

She gently urged him closer again, laying her hand on his exposed neck to pull his lips back to hers. She slipped her fingers into his hair and that was all the urging he needed. As he kissed her deeply, her mind started to race. Theoretically, she knew how this was supposed to work, but as far as she knew neither of them had ever done this before. As his erection rubbed against her again, she felt a tugging sensation deep in her gut and she moaned softly into his mouth. He pulled away from the kiss. "If we're going to do this, it needs to be quiet, Phil," he scolded in his own hushed tone. His breath was shallow, and as soon as she nodded, biting her lip, he dove for her neck. While he lightly nipped along her flesh, she bit back her tiny sounds of arousal. His teeth were nothing like they had been in her dream. He was gentle and the tickling love bites cascaded sparks of pleasure down her core.

She reached downwards, shifting so she could pull up her skirts. Her body yearned for attention. When he realized what she was doing, his own hand slipped beneath the blankets to find it's way between them. He dipped it into her smalls which were soaked nearly through and he slid them down off her hips. Excitement buzzed through her body as his fingers grazed places no one had ever touched before. She reached to take hold of him, but he picked up her leg to drape it over his hip, pulling up his own robes and pressing them together. Where his fingers had been moments ago, now his erection slid lightly over. She leaned into him, kissing him to distract her throat from letting out any sounds. He was so close. She wanted him closer. After a few moments where they wriggled awkwardly, adjusting their angles, he was able to begin slowly pushing his way inside her. When she inhaled harshly, his hand fell over her mouth. She could see him biting back his own sounds. She felt stuffed full, and her body constricted around his, making him flinch. "Keep going," she whispered around the discomfort.

He pushed himself in until he could go no further. They hugged each other, neither moving as she got used to the new sensation. "Is this... Am I hurting you?" he asked her softly.

She nuzzled against his neck, peppering light kisses just below his ear. The attention made him twitch inside her and at the jolt of sensation it caused her, she repeated the act. "At first... but this is nice."

He nodded and when she sent another pulse through him as she kissed his neck, he began to slowly move back and forth against her. She found herself matching his rhythm, using her leg to help pull him closer. Soon, her body loosened as she lost herself in him, and all of the initial discomfort faded into nothing. She could feel pleasure plucking at her senses as their movements built an almost frustrating pressure deep in her core. Since she could not allow her mouth to utter a sound, she gripped tightly to him, her nails biting into his back through his robes. His own hand had a firm grip on her butt cheek and they stifled each other's cries with their mouths. She fell over the edge first, barely able to keep herself from crying out, taking the meat of his shoulder in her mouth and biting down as her muscles constricted around him in a blinding sensation. It pulsed through her body, each stroke he made afterwards throwing her further into euphoria. Moments after her, he pulled free, took himself in his own hand and with a few strokes finished with a spray of cum between them. He grunted lightly before leaning in to capture her lips, a fresh smile on his face. "Maker," he hummed lightly. Then he looked down and flushed. "Sorry about your sheets."

She flapped her hand dismissively, briefly huddling closer to him. "Better out than in." He snorted softly, rolling his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awkwardness of the scene with Anders was a joy to write. So much more urgent than my usual naughty scenes. hehe


	6. Harrowing Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa discovers exactly what the Harrowing is all about, and makes some decisions about her future.

Philippa got out of bed early the next morning to be certain there was no evidence left visible of her and Anders' tryst. It had felt so right while they were deep in the throes of passion, but she had had the entire night to worry about everything while he got to go back to his bunk and sleep. She had thought up a million and one scenarios that could have happened, each one worse than the last. It made the lingering feelings she was having seem wrong and shameful. She didn't have much time to worry about that particular bridge to cross because while at breakfast, a templar whom she recognized as Ser Bran approached her. "The First Enchanter asked me to fetch you, Miss Hawke."

Her jaw fell open and her throat constricted. Was this it? She set down the piece of toast that she had in her hand and glanced at Finn. He smiled encouragingly. "You can do this. Good luck, Phil," he said.

Coming from Finn, those were words she could believe. He had never been one to set her up with falsities to spare her feelings. She got up, following after the nervous looking Bran. He led her up two stories to the top floor of the tower. It was dark, small mage-lights high on the pillars surrounding the room the only source of light in the early morning hours, save for the pedestal dead center of the room. It hummed with a soft blue light. Lyrium, she identified to herself. The room was ringed with beautiful stained glass windows that were not only decorative but designed around warding runes. If she craned her neck, Philippa could see all of the way to the top of the tower. The entire floor was comprised of this single room. Greagoir stood with Irving, and a small complement of templars near the glowing lyrium.

She approached them with confidence in her stride. She felt ready. Greagoir stepped forward, clearing his throat. " 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.' Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse, for demons of the Fade are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."

Irving moved to stand beside Greagoir and finish his explanation. "This is why the Harrowing exists. The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."

"Know this, apprentice," Greagoir warned. "If you fail, we templars will perform our duty. You will die." He held out his hand toward the bowl of lyrium. "This is lyrium, the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade."

Irving stepped up to her side. "The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child. Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you."

Philippa glanced between Irving and Greagoir. Were they serious? If all she had to do for her Harrowing was resist a demon, she had been harrowed thousands of times already. The ritual was a waste of lyrium. She walked up to the pedestal, full of confidence. She reached out, slowly dipping her hand into the bowl. The lyrium reacted to her, singing a soothing melody as it crept of it's own accord up her arm. Wherever it touched, her nerves began to tingle. Suddenly, she felt light headed and she stumbled. When she recovered her footing, she was in the Fade.

Reflected all around her was the Fade representation of the Harrowing Chamber. Light emanated from all around, as if it were coming from the floors and the walls, as well as above. The pillars that had stood so tall were crumbled and faded, and strange statues stood twisted and misshapen along the boundaries of her vision. This version of the Fade was nothing like she had ever experienced. Her dreams were always muted and humble, meant to deceive. It was as if the demon dwelling here knew that every apprentice dropped in it's lap was aware they were in a dream and hadn't bothered to tidy up.

Philippa hadn't slept in days, and it was honestly a relief to just know that outside the Fade, her body was resting. She took a few tentative steps, looking around for any spirits. She knew better from a lifetime of dreams and fear that you could trust no one in the Fade if they willingly offered you anything. She suspected that her Harrowing would be much different than simply pinching herself awake. She had a mission. Find and defeat one demon specifically.

She pressed onward, finding the path down that seemed to be a version of the winding staircase that they had taken to get there. When she reached the bottom, she was swarmed by floating wisps that clambered around her, curiously investigating the newcomer. Wisps were normally benevolent spirits, none of them affected enough by the world around them to properly take a form. Thus she let them be. They circled her briefly, but soon floated away to go about their business.

Philippa could sense images all around her. Voices drifted in and out of hearing range. She had experienced dreams like this in the past. If she focused closely enough, brief scenes would play out before her eyes, reenactments of the past. It was unwise to trust anything one heard or saw in these dreams, because spirits rarely reflected reality beyond their own particular represented trait. The general feeling around the Fade tower was fear. It seeped all around her. So many young mages had been forced into this place, scared and alone, and some of them never returned to the waking world. She could feel them around her as well. Trapped and terrified.

Philippa stopped her stroll and closed her eyes to listen. If she truly was a somniari as Wynne presumed, shouldn't she be able to do something to help? Those trapped spirits didn't deserve that fate. They were just children, most barely three years her senior. She followed the muffled sobbing just out of reach. As she walked along with confidence, her eyes still closed, she pulled the spirits to her, lassoing them like wild horses. Suddenly, she bumped into something solid. "Hello," a small voice said. Philippa opened her eyes and took a step back, her magic uncoiling into her palms. In front of her stood a young girl. Her hair was blonde and her eyes a sharp blue. She wore robes that were nearly identical to Philippa's own. "What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

"Gathering the dead," Philippa replied, her senses on high alert.

The girl's brow rose in surprise. "Oh, we've never had one like you before. I don't quite know which path I should lead you down. You listen to the souls of the dead and wish to ease their plight. That reeks of compassion. Yet you were so easily swayed from your intended task that I believe sloth might also enjoy entertaining you. Your confidence is strong as well. Could pride be your undoing?" A small, bone chilling chuckle slipped from her throat. "So many choices."

"Let me guess," Philippa crossed her arms, not letting go of her charged mana. "You're to be my guide?"

The girl nodded slowly. "That is if you do not wish to join those whom you have so carefully gathered. The templars are not a very patient lot."

"Before you _send_ me anywhere, tell me... Is it even possible for me to help these people?" Philippa wondered.

The girl allowed her eyes to flow up and down Philippa's person briefly. "You are very young, but you are humming with potential. _You_ tell me... what is it you see when you look at this world around you?"

Philippa took her eyes from the girl and looked around her. "I see... truth shrouded by the perception of hundreds. A broken world that was once part of something much bigger. And I see the cracked seams that strive to hold it together. It is different from my dreams because I was sent here consciously. To have seen it like this, I understand it now."

"You are a dreamer, child," the girl said with a nod and a smile. "You will do much with your power. Do you truly wish to help these spirits? I could help, you know... Show you how. Together, we should have the strength to free them."

Philippa arched her brow in disbelief. "Do I look stupid to you? I may be young, but I have been dealing with your kind since before I could read. I really think you could have tried harder."

The girl continued to smile. "Clever child. I was hoping to put forth more of a challenge for you." A shimmering brightness appeared around the girl and her form shifted until nothing remained of the blonde apprentice accept the vague shape of a female wreathed in blinding light. "You can help the spirits here if you harness your gifts. That day is not today, but soon. Be proud. You have passed." The image flickered and the Fade blackened around her.

Flashes of memories of waking briefly in the Harrowing Chamber fluttered through her mind as she slowly returned to consciousness. If she was alive, that could only mean that the spirit she had encountered had at least been telling the truth about one thing. She had passed her Harrowing. A feeling of excitement and elation, coupled with relief washed over her. Before she opened her eyes, she knew one thing for certain. She had been moved. She had no memory of being brought from the Harrowing Chamber and back to her bed. She knew the scent of the apprentice dormitories better than anything, and the smell of her own sheets mingled with Anders' unique scent was all too familiar. She felt more rested than she had since her meeting with Wynne.

"Phil?" The bed shifted beneath her as he sat down on the edge. "Are you awake?"

She rolled onto her back and stretched, yawning. "I think so." She pried her eyes open and saw Anders looking down at her in concern. "What time is it?"

"Nearly supper. You slept all day," Finn's voice joined the conversation and she tilted her head to see around Anders' hovering body.

She hummed in agreement. "And I could sleep another week if they let me," she chuckled, nudging Anders with her foot to move him away so she could sit up. She rubbed her eyes.

"What was it like?" Anders asked her sheepishly.

She opened her mouth to give him details, but Finn spoke over her. "You know she isn't allowed to tell us."

Philippa closed her mouth and nodded. "I'm sorry, Anders. I can't."

Finn cut off any protests that Anders might have. "The First Enchanter wants to see you."

"Right now?" she asked with a frown.

"He said, 'as soon as she wakes'. I'll assume he meant right now, yes," Finn quoted, smirking at her.

She sighed heavily and gave Anders a brief pat on his thigh as she stood. "Tell the others I'll see them at supper."

The nod he gave her was halfhearted, his expression disappointed. She frowned slightly, but then looked away, giving Finn a smile. Finn reached out, pulled his hand back and then grunted, reaching out again to pat her shoulder. "I knew you could do it, Phil. Congratulations."

"Aww," she cooed teasingly. "Thank you, Finn!" She stepped into his arm, and wrapped her own arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffened and let out a strangled sound that made her chuckle. "Just let it happen. It'll be over soon..." she hugged him a few moments more and then pulled away. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Finn brushed his hands down the front of his robes where her body and pressed against his. "Why, Phil...? Wh... wh... why would you do that? Sweet Maker..."

She chuckled again and resisted the urge to pat his cheek. "Because we're friends, dummy. I'll see you at supper."

Philippa left the dormitory to whispers and glances that followed her through the halls, all of the way to the First Enchanter's office. She knocked on the open door and Irving looked up from the papers on his desk. "Ah, Miss Hawke. It's good to see you. I trust you slept well?"

"Like a sloth demon on holiday," she said with a chuckle.

His own small chuckle joined hers as he got up from his desk and moved to the long table to the right of where she stood. "I suppose so. I wanted to congratulate you on passing the Harrowing. I don't believe I've ever had one so young perform so quickly." He picked up a folded set of yellow robes like Wynne's and a standard staff. "You are officially a mage of the Circle. As such, I present you with your robes and your staff. May they serve you well." He passed the robes to her and she took the thin silver ring from atop them and slipped it on her middle finger. It hummed with lyrium that resonated with her mana. When she took the staff, he smiled at her again. "I've had your phylactery sent to Denerim and I've arranged for a place in the mages' quarters. It's about time Wynne was made a Senior Enchanter, don't you think?" He winked slyly.

Philippa giggled. "I don't think calling her 'senior' enchanter to her face is a wise choice."

"Right you are, child." After he called her the usual nickname, he grunted and shook his head. "It will take some getting used to, but you are an Enchanter now. I should treat you with the respect that deserves. 'Philippa', isn't it?"

She curled her lip. "I've not gone by that in years. Phil, if you wish."

"I shall try and remember," he said with a smile. "Now feel free to take tomorrow to relax and adjust to your new quarters."

"First Enchanter, I had a question. Now that I am Harrowed, will I need to choose a specialization, or should I continue my classes as they are?" she wondered.

"Well, that is entirely up to you. In my opinion, there is always something to learn if you've the aptitude for it. If there is something specific that strikes your interest, I would be happy to review a request for internship. Give it some thought before you decide. There is no rush."

"Thank you, First Enchanter," she bowed her head respectfully and left Irving's office. Her first bit of business was to congratulate Wynne on her promotion. She headed for the infirmary where you could usually find Wynne when she wasn't teaching. Predictably, Wynne was near the back of the room, taking stock of their bandages and poultices. "Senior Enchanter?" Philippa said softly, not wishing to break Wynne's focus.

Wynne looked up and smiled wryly. "I should very much like to throttle Irving for that particular title," she said with a small chortle. "What can I do for you?"

"I've just come from First Enchanter Irving, and he told me about your promotion. I wanted to congratulate you," Philippa said with her own smile.

Wynne flapped her hand dismissively. "It's I who should be congratulating you. Passing the Harrowing at 15 is certainly a feat."

Philippa bit her lip, lowering her eyes. "I was wondering... As a spirit healer, you have a deep connection to the Fade. When you took your Harrowing, could you... _feel_ the spirits of the less fortunate that were trapped when they didn't pass their test?"

Wynne looked at her appraisingly, setting down the bundle of herbs in her hand and rounding the table. "No. But I suspect that has more to do with your special abilities. As I said before, once you harness your powers, you will be able to shape the Fade itself to your will."

Philippa nodded. "The spirit I encountered pretty much confirmed that I am what you suspected. She called me a 'dreamer'."

Wynne smiled. "I find myself curious. Were you able to determine the nature of the demon you faced?"

Philippa opened her mouth to say pride, but then she remembered the spirit in her pure form and shook her head. "I don't think it was a demon... Wisdom. She was an avatar of wisdom."

Wynne looked shocked before a small smile tugged at her lips. "There is something truly special about you, Philippa Hawke, and it has nothing to do with being a somniari. It is a rare thing that one so young could look beyond their own expectations to see the truth of a thing. Especially in the Fade."

Philippa shrugged. "I've been staring demons in the face for years. I've probably seen every kind the Fade could throw at me. None of them have been quite so... civil... in asking me to hitch a ride in my body. She spoke with me much like you do... leading me to the answers. That is what made me say wisdom."

Wynne chuckled. "It is good to hear you think me wise and Irving thinks me worthy of the title of 'senior'. Next, my hair will be turning grey and I'll live out my days knitting socks."

Philippa smiled. "Somehow, I really don't see that happening."

"I'm glad you have so much faith in my youth, my dear. Now, I'm sure you're starving. I've already moved my things to my new quarters, so my old room is now yours, as well as the use of the mages' private baths. You are also allowed to check books out of the second floor library. Again, congratulations, Enchanter Phil."

"That really rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?" Philippa said with an eye-roll as she left the infirmary.

She made her way to her new room, nearly passing it up out of habit, even though she knew where to stop. The door was unlocked, and she was surprised to even find that feature on a door in the tower. Apparently full fledged mages enjoyed a few creature comforts. Philippa felt like she hadn't ever experienced full privacy. Before the Circle, she had grown up in the small cabin with her family, sharing a room with Garrett. Then the apprentice dormitories after that, sharing a room with several others. Being an Enchanter was going to be a very big adjustment. She closed her door behind her and flicked the lock. Giggling at the novelty, she flicked it open and closed a handful of times before locking it so she could change into her new robes in peace.

Once she was dressed, she took a look in the tall mirror that stood beside her personal vanity. She still was not a fan of the yellow color of her robes, but she had little choice. She was a mage now. No more apprentice blues that matched her eyes so well. She still needed to go back to the dormitories and collect her personal belongings from her footlocker. Her glass dragon and her pile of letters from her family, and the birthday cards from Finn. But first, she was famished. Her stomach gave a rumble at the thought of food, and she headed out of her room. She nearly bumped headlong into a templar as she pulled the door shut behind her. "Oh!" she sputtered as she looked up to apologize. "Ser Bran! Apologies. I wasn't paying attention... Why are you hovering outside my door?" she asked with a chuckle.

He apologized as well. "Enchanter Hawke. I didn't mean to 'hover'. Knight-Commander Greagoir sent me to ask after you. He wishes to know if you're well after your Harrowing."

Philippa animatedly felt her forearms, touched her face and then her legs. "I seem to be all in one piece. I appreciate the concern."

Bran took a step back and tipped his head. "Of course. I shall... inform Greagoir. Good evening."

Philippa's eyes followed Bran as he inched away, turned and then headed toward the third floor. His behavior struck her as odd, but she shrugged it off, too hungry to care. She followed after him toward the third floor and the dining hall.

She filled two plates and happily made her way over to where her friends were sitting, locked in idle conversation. She noticed Bran hovering near the other end of the dining hall, his eyes non discreetly flicking in her direction every few moments. She sighed, figuring out that the Knight-Commander had decided that she was in need of a tail, and set his least competent templar recruit to the task. She set her tray down in her usual seat beside Finn and he glanced over. For a moment, he frowned until he realized who he was looking at. "Maker's breath, Phil, I almost didn't recognize you." He curled his lip back. "Yellow is really _not_ your color."

She took a bite of her roll and scowled playfully. "Shut it or I'll hug you again."

Finn shifted away from her as Neria spoke up. "Well _I_ think you look smashing."

"I agree," Kilian said. "I think our Phil's grown into a fine thing... In any color." He winked and she rolled her eyes.

"So... I know you can't give details, but... was it scary?" Faye asked, picking at the bite of chicken left on her plate.

Philippa shrugged. "Not for me..."

"You're so brave," Brissa gasped.

"Are you leaving the dorms?" Jowan asked.

Philippa nodded. "Enchanter Wynne's been promoted. I'm to have her old room." At the disappointed groans around the table she chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll come to visit you peons all the time. Plus we'll see each other at meals, and I'll be down at the children's dorms every evening as usual."

"Did the First Enchanter say anything about what you'll be doing during the day?" Finn asked.

"He gave me tomorrow off to 'adjust', and then I am allowed to choose whether I continue my classes as they are, or choose a specialization," she explained.

"What do you think you'll do?" Jowan wondered curiously.

"I may stick with creation and battle magic. History and mathematics are getting repetitive, and I've had all of the herbalism I think I can stand. I may choose to pick up my own studies. Astronomy is fascinating." She winked at Kilian who snorted, remembering back to the night he had showed her the astrarium so many years ago.

Neria snorted. "So is anatomy..." she made a vulgar gesture and nudged Kilian who used a laugh to cover up his flush of embarrassment. Philippa didn't think she had ever seen Kilian embarrassed before. It made her wonder what might be going on between them. It wasn't unheard of. She was involved in her own sordid affair, after all.

Speaking of Anders, she glanced around. "Has anyone seen Anders?" She stuffed down a brief jolt of panic. She never ceased to worry when Anders disappeared.

Faye nodded. "I saw him talking with that quiet, older boy that is friends with Keili... not long before you got here."

"His name is Karl," Finn supplied. "He was in my herbalism class a while back, but took up a different class when he turned eighteen."

It wasn't unheard of for Anders to make his rounds through the dormitories. He was extremely charismatic when he wasn't trying to escape the Circle. A lot of people liked him, much like they liked her simply for being who she was. She shrugged, glad that he wasn't missing because he had escaped again. There was a conversation they needed to have, but now was not the time. It was a happy day for her.

She finished up her supper, chatting amiably with her friends before heading down to her old dorm to get her things from her footlocker. Bran followed her as discreetly as was possible for the young armor clad templar. When she reached the dormitory, he passed by the door she had gone in, but never the second down the hall. He had stopped somewhere in the middle. She noticed Anders sitting in one of the armchairs near the game tables. He looked up from the book he was reading and spotted her. He hopped up from the chair and glanced around for an audience in the room before approaching her with a small smile, "Phil!"

Her eyes widened when she realized he was after more than a hug. She took a step away making him falter and his expression fall slightly. She took hold of his forearm and squeezed. "I'm being followed," she said in explanation of her rebuff.

He frowned. "Was it not enough they put you through a Harrowing _years_ ahead of time, now they're going to dog your heels?"

She moved to her footlocker and knelt to open it. She began to pull out her books, her spare underclothes, and her other personal belongings. "I'm hoping it's temporary, until they realize I'm not a threat." she said sighing. When she looked up at him, his expression had shifted from anger to disappointment. "What?"

"So, you _are_ leaving?" he asked, his tone sad.

"I'm not considered an apprentice anymore, Anders..." she said gently, recognizing the hurt in his eyes. He had clung to her since he arrived at the Circle, only making a few other friends in spite of his popularity. "It's not like I'm leaving the Circle. I'll only be one floor up." She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. "I trust you can manage sneaking through the halls alone without me to guide you."

He smiled grudgingly. "You're such a tease. I wish I could kiss you right now."

"If you come upstairs later, hopefully my templar escort will grow bored. Then you could maybe do more than kiss me..." she suggested, her cheeks flushing. It still felt odd to be offering her body to him.

He looked her up and down, noting her hesitation. "Are you sure that's what you want, Phil?"

She bit her lip, glancing away. "Maybe?"

He pressed his lips together, exhaling from his nose. "Listen. I'll come to your quarters tonight... just to talk. I think that's what we need... But we can't do that with your templar friend trailing you." She nodded her agreement, touching his arm briefly before going back to her footlocker and gathering up the things she had already sorted out to take with her.

That night, she sat up late into the evening watching the shifting pool of moonlight as it traveled across her floor, shining in from the window high up her wall. It was a small taste of freedom that she knew was there, but could not even look out of. A few hours after lights out, the light caught her glass dragon, making rippling flashes that danced merrily on the wall.

Her mind wandered as she waited for Anders. Beyond all of the excitement of the day, the whimpering cries of the spirits of lost apprentices kept creeping their way into her thoughts. It bothered her that they were there, just beyond the Veil, begging for freedom. A soft knock sounded on her door and she jumped, the flickering lights on the wall having gone out of focus as her thoughts had wandered. She got up and went to the door, opening it quietly.

Anders stood outside, looking around nervously. She took hold of the front of his robes and pulled him inside. Once he passed the threshold, she closed the door behind him and locked it. "I didn't think you were coming," she admitted softly.

"I didn't know if your guard was going to persist after lights out, so I waited for a bit to be sure," he explained. They both stood awkwardly in the middle of her room. She idly thought she might request for a rug to be put down over the stone before he sighed. "Listen, Phil, last night... you were... amazing. But in spite of being trapped in this bloody tower, our lives right now..."

"Are going in completely opposite directions..." she finished for him.

He sighed again as if in relief. "Of course you understand. You're Phil. You always understand. Even if you hate everything that is happening, you always try to understand why. It's that willingness to try that makes you such a good friend. I don't want to lose that."

She frowned slightly. "I haven't changed, Anders. Just because I was moved to new quarters and I carry a staff now doesn't mean we aren't allowed to be friends. I just don't think that continuing as anything more is a good idea, in spite of how much I enjoyed sharing my bed with you last night."

He smirked impishly. "That _was_ nice, wasn't it? I've still got the bite marks to prove you enjoyed yourself."

She snorted and shoved his shoulder. "Oh, come off it." Then she shrugged. "Well, at least I can't be used in any sacrificial blood magic rituals anymore."

He chuckled. "The blood of a virgin _is_ rumored to be a commodity..."

With her own snigger, she took his hand. "I'm glad we sorted this out."

He smiled. "Me too. And by the way, you look terrible in yellow."

She gasped in mock horror. "So the truth comes out. All this nonsense about our lives taking different turns and the real reason was my change in wardrobe. You can't stand to be seen with me."

"Ha! You caught me. You're all too clever," he chuckled, taking his hand away from hers. "Good night, Phil."

"Good night." She went to her tip toes and kissed his cheek and in return, he hugged her tightly. "Let me make sure the hall is clear. Don't want to get caught doing nothing."

All throughout her day off, thoughts of the trapped apprentices constantly shifted through her mind. By midday, she had decided what she wanted to do. She made her way to First Enchanter Irving's office and knocked on the open door. When he glanced up and saw her, he smiled kindly. "Ah, our newest Enchanter. What can I do for you, Phil?" Her name sounded strained coming from his mouth, as if the familiar nickname for her felt odd to him.

"I actually wanted to ask a favor," she said sheepishly. When he did not outright protest or question her, she pressed forward. "Since there are no other 'dreamers' to teach me how to use my gift, I was wondering if you might grant me permission to drop my creation class for three days out of the week so I might spend some time honing my own abilities. It could be supervised, of course," she tipped her head toward the hall where her barnacle of a templar, Bran, was still stuck to her ass.

Irving looked her over with scrutiny before nodding. "If Wynne has no objection, I don't see why I should. I will adjust your schedule. What other electives were you interested in?"

She smiled. "I've always found astronomy intriguing, and zoology... focusing particularly on magical creatures. And I'd like to continue in battle magic."

Irving nodded. "Yes, Torrin has reported that you are quite skilled in that field. I will see to it that you are given a revised schedule that will allow you free periods throughout the week to focus on your Fade studies, as well as incorporating your chosen electives. I hope Wynne has taught you the intricacies of healing burns..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun twisting the Harrowing for a Somniari. I would think the test would be a cake walk for anyone who could tell a demon from a spirit, and shape the Fade accordingly. Since Philippa hasn't truly come into her power yet, I couldn't make it too much of a power struggle, so I tested her mind over her skill and I'm pleased with how it turned out.


	7. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the mutual agreement that they were not right for each other, Philippa and Anders dissolve their relationship, and she begins her new life as a Harrowed mage.

Philippa stared wide eyed at the creature before her. She had no idea prior to this very moment that the Circle had a live drake living on the back end of the fourth floor, beyond the templar's barracks. It stood on all fours, it's hind legs thicker and more powerful than it's almost arm-like forelegs. Sticking up from it's shoulder blades on it's back were bony protrusions that jutted up a foot into the air. The scales that covered it's entire body were slate blue, nearly allowing it to blend with the stone of the tower's walls.

The mage standing beside her was a burly middle aged man with a scruffy chin and hair that looked as if it might not have been tended in a few days. Oddly enough, in spite of the color of his eyes and the fact that his messy hair was a dirty blonde streaked with hints of grey, his devilish smirk and carefree demeanor stirred memories of her twin brother that she could barely touch. Enchanter Renodus had several light scars on his face and hands that she could see, and his robes were singed in several places. "Isn't he beautiful?" Renodus asked her, his arms crossed and his spine straight with confidence as she glanced from her to the drake, gauging her reaction.

Her first instinct had been to be frightened, but that instinct flitted away quickly to be replaced by awe. She had never thought to see a dragonling in her lifetime, let alone a full grown drake. She tore her eyes from the sharp and scaly creature to glance at Renodus. "How are we able to keep him here?"

The man chuckled. "Thunder here isn't the problem..."

"Thunder?" she asked with her brow raised in curiosity.

"Yeah," Renodus said with a grin. "Just like thunder is all the bluster of the storm without any real ability to harm you... Thunder here is all backbone until it comes down to actually doing anything about anything. He's a bloody coward. Plus, drakes don't have any breath weapons like dragons. Best he could do would be to nip off with one of your fingers."

Philippa eyed the burns on Renodus' clothes and cocked her hip. "So then where did you get those burns on your robes? Or are you just a really clumsy pyromancer?"

Renodus chuckled again. "Remember when I said that Thunder wasn't the problem...? How would you like to meet Ember?"

She let out her own nervously thrilled chuckle. "I don't know... will I survive the encounter?"

"I haven't lost an intern yet... Well, not to the dragon anyway. A lot of them run off screaming... You might want to erect a barrier, though. Just in case," Renodus said. "She doesn't always take kindly to newcomers."

Philippa did as she was told as she followed Renodus through a few doors. He held his arm out in front of her stepping through the last one before her. Philippa could hear heavy rumbling breathing on the other side of the door, and she eagerly followed Renodus into the dark room. A mage light flickered on and illuminated the large, open cell before her. Lying in the far corner, nestled around a clutch of eggs was an honest to goodness dragon. It was not a large dragon, only slightly bigger than her mate. Instead of the spiky protrusions that jutted from Thunder's back, she had thin, sleek wings that resembled those of a bat's. She laid like a cat, her legs tucked neatly under her and her long, serpentine, neck and head buried beneath her wing. Her scales glittered in the light, a deep purple hue mixed with the blue of her underbelly. "Maker's breath," Philippa gasped in amazement.

With the light coming on and Philippa's soft reaction, the dragon lifted her head from beneath her wing to gaze on the new person that had entered her space. Philippa met her gaze without fear, her heart racing in excitement rather than terror. The dragon responded, her head tipping slightly. Her wing hugged more tightly around the clutch of eggs beside her, and her eyes narrowed. Philippa calmly lifted her hands, her palms facing outwards. She did not attempt to approach the dragon nor did she show any sign that might be considered a threat. After a few moments, Ember huffed lightly, small streams of smoke issuing from her nostrils in a clear sign of bored acceptance that relayed her readiness to fry Philippa to a crisp should she threaten her eggs. Then she lowered her head again, still watching with open eyes, but showing that she didn't feel threatened. "Well, I'll be..." Renodus said. "You must be a dragon whisperer. I've never seen Ember so calm when faced with an unfamiliar person."

He gently took Philippa's arm and led her back into the hallway, snuffing the mage light in the dragon's room. "Well, I didn't get eaten or burned, and I didn't run away screaming. Does that make me your new student?"

Renodus bowed teasingly. "It would be an honor, Enchanter Hawke."

She rolled her eyes. "Please, Phil."

He crossed his arms and nodded. "Even though I'm your teacher, we are standing on even ground. Your robes are as yellow as my own. We'll likely be shedding blood together at some point, so I think I can ask you to call me Ren."

" _That_ is the honor," she agreed.

Philippa spent a lot of time pouring over texts she had found in the Enchanter's library, enraptured by the history of the Old Gods. One of the texts described the connection of the Old Gods to ancient somniari like herself. Dreamers, the tome described, had originated among the elves of Arlathan, but the first humans to have the gift were worshipers of Dumat and his kin. The gift dwindled to nothingness after the start of the Blights in -395 Ancient when Dumat supposedly was corrupted and became the first Archdemon.

Her studies had started off much like this. Finding any tidbit she could about the somniari and lapping it up like a cat with cream. As the months after her Harrowing progressed, her templar guard became less of a guard and more of a pack mule for the stacks of books that she was wont to lug back and forth from the library to her room. She rarely noticed Bran anymore, like he was window dressings. Once she had chosen her favorite tomes, she had returned all of the ones that wouldn't help her further her magic and kept those that gave her as much detail about how the gifts of a dreamer functioned.

In spite of dropping herbalism from her roster, Philippa was constantly in the makeshift greenhouse, annoying Ines to the point of distraction as she tested and combined herbs to find all of the right mixtures that would assist her in forcing herself into the Fade without lyrium like they had used for her Harrowing. Eventually, she would be able to do so without assistance, consciously dream on command. She felt like she had a long way to go before she would be on that level.

The rest of her days were as typical as they had been before her Harrowing. She would wake early, go to breakfast where she got to spend time with her friends (a circle which was slowly growing as she met more of the Harrowed mages), then it was upstairs to assist Ren with breakfast for the dragons. Three days out of the week after feeding time, she would head to the library and work out her own curriculum. The other two days she went to Wynne, slowly learning to hone her spirit healing abilities. Mid-morning she reported back to Ren for practical lessons where she not only learned dragon handling, but while they worked, he lectured, teaching her about dragons and drakes, and also about wyverns, deep stalkers, ghasts, and even the extinct griffon. Then it was off to lunch before her afternoon of battle magic. When her classes were over, she found herself with free time most days before supper. She filled that time discreetly exploring the tower, honing her chess skills, or teaching herself to play the lute. Then after supper, she continued to help out in the children's dorms before bed. Her astronomy lessons happened on Friday and Saturday nights after the sun went down and the stars were visible in the night sky. The practical was meshed with the academic as they charted stars and memorized constellations.

With her busy schedule, Philippa made certain to still make time for her friends. Anders soon got bored with her trying to make time for him and inevitably blamed the Circle for her distance. They were all outside on a Sunday morning, and she had been up late the night before, her astronomy class running late so they could all sit up and watch a lunar eclipse. She was paying little heed to the conversation going on around her, just glad to be with her friends outside in the sunshine. Spring had just broken through and there was still a chill in the air as a light breeze tousled her hair. She closed her eyes, sitting with her back pressed to Faye's on the ground while Kilian talked about being ready for his Harrowing. Her eyes drooped closed and she nearly drifted off when there were a few shouts and then a splash in the lake below.

Her eyes flew open as calamity broke out in the courtyard. A half dozen templars stood along the edge of the fence that protected against anyone falling off the cliff-side that the island created into the lake. They stared out at the lake looking dumbfounded. Philippa stood to get a better look at what might have happened, and her jaw fell open. "Andraste's ass!" she cursed as she watched the familiar head of strawberry blonde hair awkwardly swimming for the opposite shore. Finn stepped up beside her, cringing. "The bloody idiot is going to drown himself!"

"Or catch legionellosis." Finn said with a shudder. When she raised her brow and glanced at him he shrugged. "What, Phil? It's a real thing. That water is filthy."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "How long do you suppose he'll be in the dungeons this time?"

"You're certainly optimistic," Finn pointed out. "You forget he hasn't taken his Harrowing yet. They might just make him tranquil and be done with it."

She hugged herself. "They haven't yet. Let's hope his luck holds out."

Finn stepped closer to her, still without touching. "I know you had a thing... is that still... a thing?"

"No," she said truthfully, staring over the lake as Anders successfully dragged himself onto the shore across the way, visibly sputtering and then dropping down to roll onto his back and catch his breath. A few shouts of encouragement rose from some of the other younger apprentices, but the glares of the assembled templars quickly stifled the enthusiasm.

As they were all quickly ushered back into the tower to prevent any copy cat jobs, Finn walked close beside her. "I think it's good that you've distanced yourself from him. I worry about you, Phil. Anders is... I want to say a bad influence, but I know you'd never be stupid enough to try and escape. He's... no good for you."

"Looking to take his place?" she said teasingly, resisting the urge to nudge him.

Finn cleared his throat as she noted the reddening of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "No, Phil. I just..." he cut himself off, and she waited for him to try again, or maybe stumble through an embarrassed denial, but he simply pressed his lips together and remained silent.

Finn's awkward non-confession was forgotten the next day as they fell back into their weekly routines. Anders was returned to the Circle on Tuesday. His valiant swim across the lake earned him a full week in the dungeons. When he was released, it was around lunchtime, and Philippa saw him entering the dining hall with his usual post-dungeon sour look on his face. She moved to stand and approach him to give him an earful, but someone else beat her to the punch. The older apprentice, Karl crossed the hall with purpose, stopping in front of Anders to quietly chide him. She would have given anything to hear what Karl said to him that made his expression sink into such guilty humiliation so quickly. When she had scolded him, it had always come back to his cheeky smirk and a quip. When Karl scolded him, Anders folded in on himself, looking utterly ashamed.

Since her Harrowing, she had been seeing less and less of Anders. She understood why. She was an Enchanter now. She was tethered more closely to the institution that he loathed more than anything. It stood to reason that with his particular brand of logic, she might be someone to be avoided. He was still friendly when they interacted, but he held a rueful scorn toward poor Bran who was simply following the orders he was given when he followed her about. Apparently, she was the one being replaced.

Philippa had just read something extremely interesting in a diary entry she had found that was written by a former Circle mage. She scurried excitedly to the apprentice dorms where she knew the others would already be sleeping. It was going on midnight after all. Her feet carried her to Finn's bunk where amazingly, she found him still awake, his blanket pulled over his head and a crystal lit so he could read. She hissed lightly to grab his attention. When he poked his head curiously from beneath the blankets, she tipped her head toward the door, urging him to follow her. With a frown, he got up and followed her to the hallway. "Phil, what are you doing?"

"Just hush, and follow me," she scolded starting off toward the common area.

"It's the middle of the night. Where are we going?" he insisted as he followed, jogging every few steps to keep up with her excited pace.

She hustled him through the common room and toward the basement stairs. "I just read about something in the repository that you _need_ to see. I just hope it's still here."

"The repository?" his eyes bugged as he grabbed hold of her elbow. She looked down as he ground her to a halt and she smirked before looking up at him. He snatched his hand back as if he were just realizing that he was touching another human being. "Phil, we're not supposed to be in the repository."

"I'm an Enchanter," she scoffed. "As long as we don't take anything when we leave, it'll be fine. Come on, Finn. Adventure."

Finn shuddered. "Adventure tends to lead to... outside."

She sniggered. "This one won't. I promise." She reached out and took his hand to pull him along with her. Surprisingly, he allowed her to pull him through the basement door and down the remaining stairs into the dark hallway before taking his hand back. "I forgot how dark it was down here," she mumbled. Drawing on her mana, she focused it into her staff and tapped the butt on the ground to light the crystal embedded at the top.

Light flooded the corridor and Finn flinched. "What if there are templars down here?"

She shook her head as she began to lead them past the sentinels and toward the dungeons. She had never been beyond the cells, but she knew the repository laid beyond. "The templars have no reason to patrol down here as long as no one is in the dungeons. The sentinels take care of any threats."

"The sentinels? You mean the suits? Maker's breath, Phil. If they decide we're a threat, we're done for," Finn worried, inching closer to her light.

"They won't bother us. Can you just trust me for once?" Philippa begged, recognizing the room where they dungeons were housed.

She continued past it as Finn sighed. "Why do I let you talk me into these things?" he mumbled.

He chuckled. "Because deep down, I know you're curious... and because you like me."

"I do no..." he immediately objected before pressing his lips together and then lowering his eyes. "Oh, you meant... right. Sure. I suppose you're all right."

Philippa stopped dead, Finn barreling into her back. Then she spun. "Why did you protest so quickly?" His eyes widened. And she saw him inwardly curse himself. She smirked as she realized what might be happening.

He took note of her confident expression and pressed his own lips together again. "No. Phil. Don't you dare. That's not what I meant."

She continued to smirk at him. "Do you _like_ me, Finn?"

He crossed his arms and took his eyes off her, but in the glow of her mage light, she could see the flush in his cheeks. "As my best friend. Yes."

She snorted. "You're a terrible liar, Finn." She backed off, understanding how difficult it must be for him to even have potentially romantic feelings toward another person. "Come on. I still want to show you why we came down here." She turned and continued toward the repository.

Finn was quiet, all of his protests and worries shoved down deep. She allowed him his silent panic attack. She would never push him for more than just their friendship. She cherished it too much. After what had happened with Anders and how swiftly they had drifted apart afterwards, she wouldn't let that happen again.

"Here we are," she said triumphantly as they came upon the large doorway into the repository. She pushed open the door and stepped in, allowing her light to brighten the pitch black room. All around them, artifacts hummed with power. She closed her eyes, absorbing the tingling feeling of the ambient mana that drifted on the air.

"Do you feel that?" Finn whispered in awe.

She laughed lightly. "There is so much history here," she mused, moving further into the room and running her fingers over the dusty relics stacked on shelves. There were ancient grimoires, staves that hummed with malevolent energy, statues, and everyday objects lying around. Philippa was looking for one thing in particular. She glanced around looking for the most lifelike statue she could find. When she spotted it, she moved confidently through the room, pulling Finn along behind her. She stopped in front of the statue and smiled, hoping she was not about to make a complete fool out of herself. "Hello? Eleni Zinovia?"

After a moment, a soft feminine voice resonated from the statue. "Greetings. I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and advisor to Archon Valerius. Prophecy my crime, cursed to stone for foretelling the fall of my lord's house."

"Maker's tears..." Finn gasped as Philippa looked upon the statue in awe. Up until it had actually spoken, she had believed that the author of the diary had been a lunatic.

"Forgive me for disturbing you," Philippa apologized. "I... I didn't actually believe you could be real when I read of your existence down here."

"Weep not for me, child. Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure until the Maker returns to light their fires again," the statue responded.

Finn stepped past Philippa. "So you've been here... for centuries?" Finn suddenly turned to Philippa. "Do you know who Eleni Zinovia is, Phil? She was Archon Hessarian's mother."

Philippa nodded. "This is why I brought you here. I knew you would probably like to pick her brain."

A smile spread across Finn's face as he turned back to face the statue. "The things I could learn... There isn't enough time..."

Finn asked a few questions of the statue, but he was right. There was not enough time. With a promise to return, they left the stone prophetress alone. Philippa led them back out of the basement and quietly stifled the light on her staff when they reached the common room. She gave him a wry smirk. "Did you need me to walk you back to the dormitories, or can you sneak back on your own?"

He wrinkled his nose before rolling his eyes. "I think I can manage."

She softened her smirk and smiled at him. "Good night, Finn."

"Good night," he agreed. When she turned to walk away, he caught her arm. "And, Phil... Thanks... for thinking of me."

She glanced down at his hand on her arm. "Keep touching me like I don't have germs and I might get the urge to hug you again..." she teased with a smile.

He pushed her away gently, taking his hand off her arm. "The next time you see me, I will have scrubbed my hands clean off my body. Go to bed, Phil."

She chuckled lightly and left him to head back to her quarters.

Finn's Harrowing came a year and a day after her own. According to Faye, when Philippa inquired about his absence at breakfast, the templars came quietly in the middle of the night and took him from his bed.

Philippa worried all morning as she went about her studies and helping Ren. She had every confidence in Finn, but she couldn't help but be concerned. She knew very well how convincing the spirits of the Fade could be. She didn't see him until after her shift in the children's dormitories that evening when she returned to her quarters. She caught sight of him carrying an armful of books and his belongings to the room two doors down from hers. In her excitement, she rushed over to him and threw her arms around him, making him nearly drop all of his books. "Phil! I just got these robes, don't soil them!" he complained and she chuckled happily.

"Congratulations," she said, stepping back from him and noticing that yellow seemed to suit him better than it did her. A soft clearing of a throat nearby had her turning to see than Bran was hovering as usual. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Finn. "So how did it go?"

Finn's cheeks suddenly reddened and he jerked to catch one of the books trying to slide from the top of his pile. "Fine. It was fine."

"Just 'fine'?" she asked, taking three of the books from his arms and getting a better look at his eyes as they shifted nervously. "Remember, I'm not an apprentice. You _can_ tell me what happened."

"It's..." he paused and cleared his throat. "It's private."

She frowned and drew her chin back. "Oh," she said, straightening the books in her hands and tipping her head toward what she supposed was his room. "Is this you?"

He nodded. "Would you mind... setting those on the nightstand?"

She brushed aside the general oddness of his behavior, used to it by now, and nodded. "I'll bet you can't wait to get into the mages' library."

"And the _private_ baths," he joked with a laugh. "The ones in the dormitories are so... used."

She dropped herself onto the edge of his bed and smiled. "So have you decided what your specialization will be?"

He glanced at where she had placed herself and set down the books he had in his arms. "Spirit healing. Full time. My afternoon electives will be linguistics and history."

She chuckled. "So while I'm wrestling dragons and learning to wield a staff in combat, you'll be..."

"Reading, Phil. I will be reading... and learning to summon a spirit to help me heal the burns you will inevitably pick up along the way," he said with a teasing lilt.

"Color me jealous," she joked in return.

He sat deliberately across the room from her. "Speaking of our studies, have you made any headway into your somniari skills?"

She bit her lip. "I was actually wondering if you might be free to help me with something..." she glanced at the doorway, where Bran had positioned himself. She drew her hands into her lap and nervously wrung them. She glanced quietly from Finn to Bran and shook her head lightly before Bran turned around to see why they had gotten so quiet. Finn nodded imperceptibly.

"Actually, Phil, I'm going to be pretty busy with my new schedule. I'm not sure I'll have time."

"Oh," she said, trying her best to sound disheartened. "Okay. I understand. Well, congratulations anyway. I'm proud of you."

She stood and made her way out of the room with a small backward glance, then headed to her own room. She closed herself in to do some final checks on her little experiment before lights out.

Nearly an hour after lights out, Philippa gathered the small collection of herbs that she had dried and measured. With the full bowl clutched against her chest, she poked her head from her door and glanced up and down the hall to be certain all the templars in the area had gone to bed. With the coast clear, she slipped from her room and scurried to Finn's room to knock softly on his door. It almost immediately opened and he beckoned her inside, looking up and down the hall much like she had. "I was wondering when you would show up," he said as he closed them in. "I thought I had read your signal right, but I wasn't sure. Then I worried that I had shot you down and you had taken me seriously..."

She snorted softly. "You worry to much, Finn."

"What are those?" he asked, pointing to the herbs in her bowl.

"I've been reading everything I could find on somniari practices, which is scattered and incomplete at best, and I have done a bit of experimenting on my own, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to submit to an experiment," she asked, pouting slightly.

He tipped his head curiously, his eyes lingering on her mouth briefly. "What would I have to do?"

"Get a good night's rest?... I'll take care of everything else. I've learned an entropic spell that will put the subject to sleep for a brief time. I want to see if these herbs will help me to actually enter another person's dream..." she explained.

"You... want to go traipsing around in my head?" he asked nervously.

She shook her head. "Not precisely. Once I find my way in... _If_ I even can, I'll be the one in control of the dream... Theoretically..."

He looked her up and down as she nervously bit her lip, still hugging her bowl of herbs. She saw his shoulders sag slightly. "This seems... risky. But I... suppose I trust you. Where do you need me?"

She sighed in relief then moved to the door to lock it so they couldn't accidentally be interrupted. "Lie down on the bed so you're comfortable. Then I'll cast the sleep spell. Once I know you're asleep, I will burn the herbs and work my own magic to, hopefully, put myself in your dreams." She knelt, setting the bowl on the floor while he made his way to the bed and got comfortable. She traced out a ritual circle, adding a few specific glyphs to the outer rings, around herself and then sat with her legs drawn up beneath her. She placed the bowl before her and then glanced up to where he was lying on the bed, watching her. "Ready?" she asked.

"Whenever you are," he agreed, shifting from his side to his back and folding his hands over his stomach.

Philippa lifted her hands before her, she crossed them at the wrists. Then she balled her fists, turned them outwards, opened her hands again and crossed her pinkies, pushing the mana she had drawn forth toward Finn. She felt the magic taking hold and soon heard a soft snoring sound coming from the bed. She would recognize Finn's light sleeping sounds anywhere, having spent most of her younger years sleeping a few feet away from him in the next bunk. She dropped her hands to call a brief spark to her fingertips to ignite the herbs and then dropped her hands to her lap. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Concentrating her will toward the sleeping man on the bed she reached for the now familiar weaves of the Veil around her, searching for a small crack to slip into.

She felt the herbs taking hold and just like when she had taken the Harrowing, she simply opened her eyes and was in the Fade. She looked around and took pride in the fact that where she had landed looked nothing like the Circle. That meant that she had not shaped the initial setting for the dream. She took a few steps through the neatly trimmed grass of the yard she was standing in. A cobblestone path led to a large stone house landscaped with a small flower garden, and hedges as neatly trimmed as the grass. There was not a single weed in sight. Philippa snorted. This definitely had to be Finn's dream. She climbed the short set of stairs to the front door of the house and found the door unlocked. She stepped in and looked around the nicely kept home. Paintings of people lined the bright walls, their features reminiscent of her friend. They must have been his family. It was likely that this was the house where he grew up before he went to the Circle.

"Hello!" Philippa called out, putting a small amount of her will into the act and hoping that she could reach Finn inside whatever dream he was having. "Finn!"

She made her way through the downstairs of the house, taking in the details. It never ceased to amaze her how incredibly thorough the Fade could be when recreating the backdrop of your dreamworld. She searched the entire house and didn't find Finn, so she made her way back outside and around to the rear of the home. She saw Finn sitting on a bench, talking to another person. Her view of his companion was obstructed by the large tree growing in the middle of the yard. She could not hear their muted conversation from where she stood, but she heard Finn's crisp laugh followed by another that was all too familiar. She came around the tree and paused to take in the view of herself sitting beside him as they laughed happily. Keeping out of sight herself, she used the tree as cover as she drew on her will. She allowed her magic to flow from her, interrupting the dream and 'waking' Finn to bring him back to reality. As she poked at his consciousness, the dream world wavered, but she reached out and took hold of the scene, keeping it in place. Concentrating lightly on that task, she stepped from around the tree and saw Finn, still on the bench, but looking around with a small frown. When he caught sight of her, his smile returned. "Phil... is that... you?"

"In the Fade flesh... It worked," she said excitedly, the world flickering again as she wavered in her concentration.

Finn looked around at where they were and his mouth opened. "We're... awake... in _my_ dream." He frowned slightly. "Why does everything keep flickering like that?"

"Sorry," she said as a small throbbing started behind her eyes. "It's a bit... difficult to..." She pressed her fingers to her temples, hissing slightly.

She felt Finn's hands wrap around hers. "Don't push yourself, Phil. If it hurts, don't force it."

He pulled her hands from her wrinkled brow and looked her in the eyes as she took his advice, allowing the scene to fall away, leaving them standing in a completely different backdrop. She recognized her own familiar sleeping quarters with her glass dragon displayed proudly on her vanity. Now that she controlled the dream, her own constructs were taking over. Without the facade of his dream, she could see the curious wisps that always seemed to flock to her whenever she was in the Fade. Finn didn't look around to see where they were, concentrating fully on the smoothing of her brow as the throbbing of her exertion faded.

She became acutely aware of the fact that her hands were still clasped in his. His fingers slowly twined with hers. She held her breath, refusing to poke at the fact, lest he realize what he was doing and shy away like he always did. He sighed lightly as if he too were relishing the simple touch. "Does it hurt to exert your will over the Fade?"

She stood stone still, barely moving her lips as she spoke. "This is the first time I've tried it outside my own consciousness. It's more difficult, apparently, to maintain an environment you're not familiar with. Like most magic, I would assume it will get easier with practice and time."

"Well I... I wouldn't mind if you practiced on me." His fingers curled around hers a little more tightly. "This... this is nice..." he admitted.

She chuckled breathily. "I didn't want to point out that you were still touching me, in case you hadn't realized..."

He smiled slightly. "It seems that my phobias don't extend to my... what would you call this?... astral self?"

"There are no wrinkles... or dirt in the Fade," she teased lightly.

"Or germs... there aren't germ demons, right? Sweet maker..." he said with his own mildly concerned chuckle.

"I've never met a germ demon... and I've met my fair share of demons. I think you're safe," she giggled. Then she bit her lip. "Would it be too strange for me to say that I would like to know what hugging you feels like when you're not all tense and worried?"

He cleared his throat and his fingers convulsed around hers. "I um... I need to tell you something first. My Harrowing..." he swallowed and chuckled. "I didn't know your mouth could dry out in the Fade..." He cleared his throat again. "You were my Harrowing, Phil."

His fingers tightened again, as if he thought she might pull away. "Can you tell me?"

He sighed and then rolled his eyes, shifting his stance. "That desire demon likely smelled me coming miles away. She came to me, shaped like you, and told me she could give me everything I wanted if I just said yes..."

Philippa cocked her head and frowned at his reaction to his own desires laid bare. "There's nothing wrong with having feelings for another person, Finn."

He sighed again, this time more heavily. "I know... the problem is that I'm having them for _you_. That demon brought up things in me that I never thought I was capable of feeling. Now when I look at you, you're no longer the innocent little sister that I never had. You're... Phil. A young woman forced to grow up a bit earlier than she should have and doing things like walking through other people's dreams like it's the easiest thing in the world. How could I ever expect you to return any interest when I'm afraid to even _touch_ you outside of my dreams?"

She chuckled lightly. "Finn," she reached up, pulling one of her hands from his and slapping it gently across his cheek. "You big dummy. For someone so smart, you really can be dense sometimes. We've known each other for ten years. Ten whole years of friendship. You've been there for me through everything. In all that time have I ever given you reason to think that I would abandon you because of something you said or did... or didn't do for that matter. No matter what, I care about you. Whether it's as friends, or something more... but I'll never force you into something you're uncomfortable with. I'm happy, just as we are, right now."

The hand she had abandoned reached up and tentatively brushed her wild bangs from her face. He chuckled jokingly. "Do you know how many times I've wanted to do that in the waking world? Maker's breath, Phil, let your eyes show. They're your best feature..." Then he paused and traced his fingertips down her face. "I know... from what you told me... Anders wasn't afraid to touch you... I can't... I can't give you that, Phil. I just can't..."

She snorted. "You see how long that lasted. One night beneath the sheets and then our lives went in opposite directions. From what I understand, he's Karl's problem now. What _we_ have together is more than a shared sense of irony and bad jokes," she said reassuringly.

"A night beneath the sheets?" he asked with a frown. "You mean you...? when did that happen?"

"It was the night before my Harrowing," she admitted as he listened intently. "I was Anders' tether, not his lover. Whenever something didn't go his way, he would use it as an excuse to escape again. Then with some smooth words and an idiot grin, I was sucked right back in. After my Harrowing, we both realized that we had been wrong..." she explained angrily, still hurt that she had realized all of that much too late.

"I kind of want to give you that hug now, but I don't want you to think it's a pity hug. It's an 'I'm sorry' hug mixed with a 'can I make it better?' hug... You know, like normal friends give each other," he said nervously.

She snorted, stepping into his space and allowing him to slowly extricate his one hand still clasped with hers before hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. She melted into the embrace and hummed contentedly. "Message received."

His chuckle vibrated through her as he continued to hold her. "I don't really know how long these things are supposed to last..."

"As long as you want them to," she said, laying her head on his chest. He was those few years older than her, giving him an extra bit of height that she couldn't quite reach yet, if she ever would.

He held her for a few more satisfying minutes before pulling away. "So... what do we do now? I mean, now that your experiment worked..."

"Now, I wake us up... We can worry about the rest whenever you're ready. I just hope you don't forget all of this when you wake up. Dreams are fleeting after all..." She bit her lip, concerned now that he might forget everything they had just talked about.

He hummed thoughtfully. "There is one more thing I'd like to try before you wake us up... That is, if you're willing..." When she nodded, he leaned his head down closer to hers. "If I do this wrong, I apologize in advance..."

He tentatively brushed his lips against hers, and understanding that he was in the same boat she had been in when Anders had first kissed her, she gently guided him. His lips were soft, but there was something different about kissing in the Fade. People showed up in the Fade as their own representations of themselves or saw their loved ones as they knew them best. They were usually fairly accurate, but details were always missing. In the case with kissing in the Fade, the detail was in the skewed representation of basic sensory perception. In the real world, she knew that being this close to Finn, she would likely inhale the scent of dried herbs and soap as she breathed around his mouth. She guessed his mouth might taste like mint, or the beeswax he used to treat his chapped lips in the winter. Instead, there was no scent and no taste. She did, however, feel the light tickle of butterflies in her stomach as he instinctively pulled her closer to him, his hands resting flat on her back. She lifted her own hands to cup his neck, not pushing to deepen the kiss, but allowing him to lead. It was not awkward, but tentative and caring, backed with ten years of companionship.

When he finally drew back again, he smiled at her. "Thank you. It might not have been real, but I am glad we tried it."

She returned his smile. "Thank _you_ for telling me how you feel. At least now, I know I'm not crazy..." She touched his face one last time, reveling in the way he actually leaned into her touch instead of shying away. "Close your eyes, Finn..."

He did as she asked, and she called on her mana again, drawing herself free of the Fade and bringing them both awake again. When she woke up, she was still sitting cross-legged, her head slumped with her chin to her chest. She blinked against the soft light of the glowing mage light he had left on in the room. She heard his bed creak as he shifted, waking as well.

She lifted her head and glanced at him, knowing instantly that he remembered everything from his expression. "Thank the Maker," she said softly, lifting her arms over her head to stretch a kink out of her back. She really hadn't been looking forward to feeling awkward if he hadn't remembered his dream.

"How do you feel?" he asked with concern, sitting up.

"A bit stiff, but otherwise intact. I was expecting worse. I'm glad to be wrong for a change," she admitted with a light chuckle.

"I would say we need to have a talk, but I think we said it all..." he sighed.

"And I meant what I said, Finn. I'm with you, no matter what," she reiterated with a reassuring smile. Then she dragged herself from the floor with a groan, picking up her bowl and wiping the invisible circle from the floor. "Next time, I'm using a chair."

"It feels really late. You should probably get out of here before the templars start stirring," he warned.

"I'll see you in the morning," she agreed, backing to his door with a smile that he returned happily. With a quick glance up and down the hall, she closed his door behind her and slipped back to her own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been dying to get those two together! I love Finn's character, which is why I gave him such a large role in Philippa's life. I would love to see him return in the games at some point!


	8. Trouble in Kinloch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get interesting in Kinloch Hold as Philippa and the people around her begin to grow up in earnest.

Life continued on much the same in the Circle. With Finn's help, Philippa continued to harness her gifts, gaining more control. For her seventeenth birthday, Finn's annual card turned into a finely crafted bracelet ringed with tiny focus amulets that he had designed to resonate with the strength of the veil wherever she went. It helped her to nearly eliminate the need for the use of the herbs that she had started out with. When she asked him where he had gotten the idea, he shrugged and admitted that he had been consorting with the statue of Eleni Zinovia in the basement whenever he had a free afternoon.

A few months later, Bran was given a promotion and assigned to guard the door that led into the entry hall. It had apparently come to Gregoir's attention that Bran had become complacent in his duties, not having to do much beyond stroll slowly behind her, often letting her out of his sight. In spite of her clean record, because of her circumstances, the Knight-Commander insisted she be under supervision almost constantly. So when Bran was removed, he was replaced by a templar so green she thought he might accidentally smite her if she sneezed too loudly. He was nervous and stammered whenever she attempted to talk to him. His armor was always neatly polished, and the sword on his hip kept sharp and oiled. It almost struck her as if he were trying to impress someone. From what she could tell, Greagoir couldn't have cared less. In spite of his nervous outward appearance, Cullen had sharp amber eyes that loyally watched her every move from beneath his tightly coiled blonde curls.

That same year, tragedy struck her circle of friends. Philippa had known for a while that Neria and Kilian had a fling a couple of years back. He had confided in her once that he liked Neria, but she was ultimately a little too young for him. What she didn't know, was that after things had died down between them, Kilian had taken a shine to Brissa.

One afternoon, a few hours after lunch, Finn came rushing to her in the common room, uncharacteristically ruffled around the edges. "Phil!" he drew her attention, scooting to a stop beside her bench. "We have a really big problem..."

She took one look at him, as he opened his mouth to continue and stood swiftly to lead him off toward a corner. "Lower your voice. We can't just blurt things out around me. The walls have ears..." she reminded him softly, knowing that Cullen was lurking somewhere. He was much more discreet than Bran had ever been. "What's the problem?"

Finn took a deep breath and straightened his robes. "Of course." He cleared his throat and glanced around as well. He stepped slightly to her left and spoke to her with his eyes as he made an excuse. "I was just reading in the library because I had some free time, and I came across an error in their shelving system."

Realizing he needed to talk to her about something truly urgent, she nodded discreetly, using his body as a shield before she chuckled lightly. "Take a deep breath, Finn, and take me to the shelving error. I'll help you sort it. Okay?"

He nodded, allowing his shoulders to slump in false relief. He led her across the common room. She knew Cullen would lag behind, but soon be back on her trail. She only had moments to discreetly cross the library and get to the little nook where she and Anders had found a small amount of privacy after he had given her the dream-catcher. As soon as they passed through the archway into the hall that opened into the library, she quickened her pace and Finn easily kept up on his long legs. They barely garnered a glance as they hurried through the dozens of shelves and into the catalog room. Once they were in the smaller room, Philippa nudged Finn behind the tightly packed sets of shelves.

Once they were alone, she looked him over again. "This must be really important. Your robes are wrinkled."

He looked down at his front and groaned softly, rubbing his hands over the tiny wrinkles and then he said, "I really was reading... minding my own business, when Brissa comes up to me, tears in her eyes. She knows I've elected to continue my spirit healing full time, and she said she was too embarrassed and scared to go to any of the other Enchanters. She wanted me to... take care of a problem..." he hinted, a look of disgust on his face.

Philippa frowned as she took a moment to figure out what he meant. When it dawned on her, she reached up and covered her mouth, her own stomach flipping in fear. "Maker's breath! Is she certain? What did you tell her?"

"I panicked. I recommended she talk to Wynne... Phil, I'm not equipped to handle a crying girl... she should have gone to you," he moaned, rubbing his eyes in obvious stress.

She shook her head. "My expertise in the kinds of herbs she was asking for is no where near as advanced as yours... but we can't just help her abort a pregnancy. It's too messy. Someone will find out."

"They'll find out anyway," he pointed out.

"Shit..." she cursed, wracking her brain for a solution and coming up short. "Did she... did she tell you who the father might be?"

Finn pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes. "I'll give you one guess..."

"Shit..." she repeated. "They're both still apprentices. If this gets out... shit..."

"Yes, Phil. 'Shit' just about sums it up," he agreed with a growl.

Philippa bit her lip. "I really hate that I'm saying this, but we need to go to Wynne."

Finn nodded. "I thought the same thing. It feels so much like betrayal... she came to me for help and I'm turning her in." He made a choked sound. "But Wynne... has experience with this sort of thing. She told me once that she has a son my age. He was born here in the Circle."

Philippa's eyes widened at the new information, but she kept her mouth shut. Everyone was young once, and everyone made mistakes. "Then I think she's our best bet. Let me talk to Brissa first. Perhaps I can convince her to go on her own. Then you might not need to feel so guilty."

His shoulders slumped slightly. "Always the clever one," he teased lightly.

She scoffed. "Not stacked against you."

He snorted. "Of course not."

Anyone else, she would have playfully backhanded their chest or shoved their shoulder. With Finn, she pressed her lips together and frowned in mock insult. "And humble, too, I see. How did I ever get so lucky?"

Philippa sought Brissa after her duties in the children's dorm were finished that evening. When Brissa saw her coming, she rolled her eyes, folding in on herself. "Of course, he told you."

Philippa sat down across from Brissa, far enough into the dorm that she was sure that Cullen couldn't overhear their conversation. "I'm not here to judge you, Brissa. I just thought you might want to talk... woman to woman?"

Brissa sighed. "What do you want to hear, Phil? I know that anything I do will cause pain to either myself or someone I care about. And that is the best case scenario."

Philippa reached out and took Brissa's hand in hers. "You can't ask Finn to brew you up an herbal abortion," she said bluntly. "He's too squeamish to tell you, but I will explain exactly how messy that will be if you'd like. It's not something you can hide and then go about your daily routine like nothing happened. You need to tell someone. I would suggest Senior Enchanter Wynne. She would be your best opportunity for understanding and solutions. I could go with you if you'd like."

Brissa turned white as a sheet while Philippa spoke bluntly. "What will happen?" she gasped lightly. "If everyone finds out?"

Philippa hung her head, squeezing Brissa's hand. "I honestly don't have an answer that sounds favorable. I'm sorry, but honesty will be your best option, here."

Brissa drew in a ragged breath, swallowing tears and nodded slowly. "Can... Can we go now, please? Otherwise, I might lose my nerve."

Philippa smiled in relief. "Of course. She'll likely still be in the infirmary this time in the evening."

Philippa hooked Brissa's arm in hers after they stood and led her through the tower toward the infirmary. When they arrived at the infirmary, Philippa knocked lightly. Brissa tensed beside her while they waited for an answer. "I'm so scared, Phil. I think I'm going to be sick."

Philippa moved her hand to Brissa's back, rubbing soothingly up and down her spine. The door opened and Wynne looked out, her eyes flicking between the two of them. "Is everything all right, Phil?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Wynne, but there is something that needs your attention..."

After a heart-wrenching half hour, Philippa left Brissa and Wynne. She closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it. She leaned her head back, her eyes closed and sighed heavily. Whatever happened was in Wynne's hands, now. A sudden voice interrupted her quiet reflection and she jerked to attention. "That was a kind thing you did for your friend..."

"Maker's breath, Cullen. Do you have to sneak up on me like that?" she snapped, her hand settling on her chest over her racing heart. He was surprisingly stealthy for a man wearing full plate armor. Or she had simply been that distracted.

"Apologies, Enchanter Hawke," he said with a small sardonic smirk that rose to the right side of his mouth. "I didn't realize I was sneaking. I just thought you should know I admire what you did. It couldn't have been an easy decision."

She frowned. "How did you..?"

His smirk widened. "The library. Voices travel in the catalog room. That is a little tip for the next time _you're_ sneaking around."

She drew her head back, surprised. "I'm shocked you didn't run to Greagoir right away..." she pointed out with a raised brow.

His smirk faltered. "As you well know, I was assigned to shadow you, not your friends. I'll admit, I was curious what you would do, so I let things play out. I can't know what it is like to be in your shoes, but I feel for the mages here. I realize you are all as much people with feelings and emotions as the rest of us. It cannot be easy."

Philippa managed to collect her jaw from where it hung open. "Are you sure you're a templar, Ser Cullen?" she asked with a light smirk of her own.

He looked down at his armor and chuckled deep in his throat. "The last time I checked, yes."

"Then you must have fallen asleep on 'how to spurn mages' day in templar school," she quipped. "For shame."

He tipped his head, still smirking. "I will do some extra readings from Transfigurations in my nightly prayers to remind myself. Good night, Enchanter Hawke."

After a week, the first repercussion of Brissa's confession came in the form of Kilian being transferred out of Kinloch Hold to another Circle in the Free Marches. They were not told which one, and were asked not to talk about it. The subject was difficult to avoid however, as the months passed, and Brissa's belly swelled. It seemed like the entire Circle was talking about her. Philippa perfected her threatening scowl during that time, setting it on anyone who dared to whisper behind her friend's back. Neria was much more vocal on the subject, calling out the whisperers loudly, much to Brissa's dismay.

The real tragedy of the situation came after the infant's birth. Philippa and Anders were allowed to sit in on the event as Wynne's students. Finn, too squeamish at the very thought of witnessing a birth, declined the experience. The sheer number of templars in the room was stifling and Anders fidgeted uncomfortably at Philippa's side as she held Brissa's hand and kept a cold compress on her sweat soaked brow. Philippa had not known that there were so many female templars that served in Kinloch Hold until they had all gathered around.

They were cramped in the infirmary for nearly a day while Brissa wailed in pain. Philippa's fingers were numb from losing circulation while Brissa squeezed her hand with a vice-like grip. Philippa had only a moment to glimpse the tiny infant when it slipped from between Brissa's legs before the templars swarmed around Wynne while she tended the newborn. It's cries pierced the relative quiet of the room that was only interrupted by Brissa's soft weeping and the dull clank of templar plate. Once Wynne declared it healthy, half of the templars left the room, the infant and it's cries disappearing with them. Philippa's heart broke as Brissa began to howl like a wounded animal. Nothing they did could calm her, and Philippa was finally asked to put her to sleep so Wynne could deliver the placenta and tend to her other needs.

Philippa stayed by her side, long after Wynne had finished. Anders quietly stayed as well. She watched her friend sleeping, her chest and throat tight as she tried not to hear the sound that Brissa had made when her last connection to Kilian had been taken from her. "This is wrong," Anders finally said after they sat in silence for Maker knew how long. Philippa remained silent, swallowing the lump in her throat. Anders, however, couldn't let it go. "Could you imagine if this had happened to us?" he said angrily.

She snapped her head around, knowing Cullen was likely just outside the door listening. He may have a soft spot for mages, but he was still a templar. "Well, it didn't. Let's be thankful it never got this far. I'd rather not think about it."

He gaped at her for a moment and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Phil. I just... I think about you sometimes. I miss you. Not like _that_ , but as my friend. How are you doing?"

She glanced at him, her eyes studiously judging whether he had some ulterior motive or if he was just being friendly. Sometimes it was difficult to tell when it came to Anders. "I wasn't the one who pulled away, Anders. I was willing to be friends, but you seemed to decide that you could only be friends with a single person at a time." She reached over and fiddled aimlessly with her bracelet. "Taking a lover doesn't mean you stop having other friends."

He watched her closely for a moment and then his eyes narrowed. "I suppose the peerless Flora understands that, does he?"

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "Is this really the place, Anders?" He was scowling when her eyes landed on him. "Better yet, do you have the right to be jealous of my friendships?"

He scoffed. "Friendship... right."

It was her turn to get angry. "I'm sorry. I forgot. You're the one who can't just be friends with someone without thinking about what's under their robes," she said spitefully. Normally she would never be so cruel, but she was tired, and he didn't, and didn't care to, understand her relationship with Finn. "Once you find that out, your interest flies out the window... followed very closely by your person so the templars can drag you back again. I think you must enjoy it in the dungeons. You seem so eager to return to them."

Anders pressed his lips together. "I would have thought that seeing something like this first hand would make you understand why I've tried so many times to escape this place..."

She had completely forgotten Cullen until the door came open and he cleared his throat loudly. "Enchanter Hawke, forgive me, but Senior Enchanter Wynne has requested to see you."

Philippa cut her eyes one last time at Anders as he seethed before getting up from the chair she had occupied for the last day and followed Cullen from the room. Her limbs were stiff and her heart still hurt, but she followed him with her shoulders squared and her back straight, automatically stepping in his footsteps and not paying much attention to where he was taking her. When he stopped, she paused as well, ready to thank him for delivering her to Wynne until she realized they were outside her own bedroom.

When she glanced at him in surprise, he shrugged lightly, his armor clanking softly. "It sounded like your conversation was getting pretty heated back there, so I intervened. I hope you don't mind."

She sighed with mild relief. "As much as I relish giving Anders an earful, I do appreciate not having to do it tonight. I'm exhausted. Thank you, Ser Cullen."

"Good night, Enchanter Hawke," he bowed his head as he backed away.

Philippa went into her room and dropped heavily onto her bed. She slipped her hand beneath her pillow as she spread out on her stomach and touched a piece of parchment. Smiling, she pulled the note from beneath her pillow and recognized Finn's neat and curly penmanship.

_Weaver,_

_When you get in, meet me in the usual spot._

_Natty_

Philippa didn't even need time to think about what the cryptic note meant. Finn had taken to calling her Weaver in private. It was his nickname for her that he used if, like now, they needed to talk or he wanted to see her and the only way he could reach her was by note. The nicknames protected them both when they were planning after hours somniari work. No one would know who was passing the notes, nor that the 'usual spot' was inside his dreams. She had jokingly called him natty while they were making up the code, another word for his always polished look, and it had stuck after he laughed about it for nearly five whole minutes.

She tossed the note into her bin, igniting it before it reached the bottom and rolled to her back. Folding her hands over her stomach, she closed her eyes and drew on her mana. She reached out across the space between them, finding his familiar aura. As she expected, he was already asleep. She dipped easily into the Fade, needing no help from outside sources anymore. With all the practice she had, it had become like casting any other spell. It was second nature.

His dream tonight was in the Circle library, so holding onto the image was unnecessary. With a few adjustments, she pulled his consciousness into his dream self and approached him. He recognized her immediately and stood from the chair he was in, setting down the book in his hands, used to her intruding on his dreams, now. "You got my note, I see," he said with a grin as she reached him. He set his hands on her hips and leaned in to steal a short kiss from her lips. Somehow, it had never been odd that their physical relationship only existed in this realm. They had both accepted it, content in the way they interacted in the real world.

She hummed her agreement, savoring the contact. "I almost didn't. It's really late, and I'm exhausted." She leaned her head against his chest. "You should be glad you opted out of being there. I almost wish I had. It was horrible."

He hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry, Phil. What happened?"

She sighed. "For one, you couldn't swing a staff without hitting a templar. I didn't even see whether the babe was a boy or a girl before they whisked it from the room, still screaming. After that, I had to use my sleep spell on Brissa because she lost her mind, wailing beyond sense. After everyone cleared out, Anders was spitting coals about how wrong everything was. I was so tired that I rose to his bait and said some pretty mean things before Cullen stepped in with a fabricated excuse to get me out of there... All in all, fantastic day..." she said sarcastically.

He kissed the top of her head before pulling away. "I'm glad you stopped in. I figured you might need to talk a little more privately than the breakfast table tomorrow morning."

"Always thinking of me," she said with a smile. "What would I do without you?"

When Brissa woke up in the morning, she tearfully requested to be made tranquil. She didn't feel like she was capable of handling the heartbreak of losing both Kilian and her baby. After a Chantry sister was brought in to evaluate the situation, her request was approved. Within two weeks of the birth, after her body had healed enough, Brissa was put to the brand. Philippa could hardly stand to pass through the stockroom after that. Seeing her friend's large dark eyes staring so vacantly made her chest ache. Faye, who had been Brissa's best friend, turned to the Chantry to help her through the loss. Philippa couldn't bring herself to do the same. Her time in the Circle had not encouraged her religious beliefs. Praying to a god that wasn't listening seemed like a waste.

As life continued forward, Harrowings were set and passed, apprentices moved up from the children's dorms and Philippa got a whole new set of children to bond with as well as a litter of dragonlings to help raise. Her favorite apprentice, Solona Amell rose to the challenge of her teenage years with fervor. She was a particularly talented mage whose powers never seemed to settle on anything in particular. She was given the rare privilege of becoming pupil to the First Enchanter himself. She blossomed early, much like Philippa herself had, but she didn't have the additional height to keep her from filling out in all of the right places. Add in her shining personality and her caring heart, and she became the object of affection for many of the apprentices around her age. As the years passed, she caught the attention of another unlikely admirer as well. In spite of their age gap, friendship with Philippa exposed Solona to Cullen's scrutiny. Soon, Cullen reverted to his nervous, stammering self whenever Solona was around and his cheeks were constantly flushed red. In spite of her usual facetious demeanor, Philippa decided against poking that particular hornet's nest. She had already lost two friends to poor decisions. She refused to encourage more bad ideas. Solona was enough of a loose canon without Philippa's help.

Anders moved past his Harrowing when he was barely 20 years old. Philippa was actually surprised to feel a wash of relief when she heard the news. They had been friends once, and his antics had convinced her that he might never take his Harrowing. Those antics were renewed after years of complacence when Karl was transferred to the Kirkwall Circle soon after his own Harrowing. They found Anders days later in West Hill trying to buy passage to Kirkwall, earning him another brief stay in the dungeons. The attempt after that one took him a few years to plan, and he disappeared for nearly two months while the templars hunted him down. When they brought him back, Greagoir had finally had enough, sentencing him to a full year in solitary confinement.

"Are you sure you're not coming down with something?" Finn's nervously concerned voice hummed through the fog of the migraine splitting her head in two. She hadn't even realized that she had been resting her temples on her fingertips as she stared at the tome open in front of her on the desk. She hadn't actually read anything for a least ten minutes.

"I'm all right," she said, cringing at the sound of her own voice.

"This is the third headache you've had this week, Phil..." he reminded her gently.

She slid the book away from her and closed it gently so the sound of it slapping together would not bounce around in her head like Finn's had when he set it down. "I wouldn't describe this as a headache. It's more like my brain has been removed, put in a mortar and ground to a pulp before being put back in my skull which was then _nailed_ shut."

Finn cringed. "Thank you for that very vivid description... Would you... like me to run a few tests? I _am_ a certified spirit healer, now."

She tried to chuckle, but it came out a strained groan. "You just want to make sure I'm not contagious."

"Germ demons," he said with a smile.

Her responding smile was forced. She felt his magic touch her briefly and the throbbing eased to a dull roar. She hummed her thanks. "That feels much better."

"I still think you should let me do a thorough examination. You've never had migraines before," he nagged.

Before she could respond, Solona came striding importantly into the mages library. Philippa almost protested before she noticed that Solona was proudly wearing a set of yellow mage's robes. "You've taken your Harrowing!" she said excitedly, standing from her seat and ignoring the flash of pain that shot across her forehead.

Solona ran up to her and threw her arms around Philippa. "Didn't Cullen tell you?" Solona asked, her voice excited as she pulled away. "He told me he was the one that was supposed to put a sword through my middle if I failed."

Philippa glanced around. "I can't say I've seen Cullen all morning. But, congratulations!"

"Thanks! I can't stay long. I promised Jowan I would meet him for an early lunch," Solona said, hugging Philippa again. "I'll see you later at supper."

Finn snorted as Solona trotted off. "I'll bet Jowan's steamed. He's been here forever and little Sol got to take her Harrowing before him."

As Finn continued, a stranger entered the library from the guest wing and passed through, heading for the first floor. He wore distinctive armor, colored in silver and blue, and trimmed with ornamental silverite griffons on the pauldrons. His dark hair was pulled back in a tight tail, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard and a golden earring in his right lobe. His skin was dark, speaking of a non-native heritage. Possibly Tevinter or Rivain. Philippa's brain felt like too much mush to try and decipher which by his other features. "Is that a Grey Warden?" she wondered, eyeing the large and menacing daggers that were tucked against his hips.

Finn looked away from her to turn around and get a look at the stranger. "So his armor tells us. He's probably here to garner more support for the war effort. With all of the mages he's taken already, you would think King Cailan is trying to have whole platoons of us throwing fire at the enemy."

"It's not a bad idea," she shrugged with a chuckle. "Firestorms are particularly effective against Darkspawn. Or at least that's what I've read."

"Half the Senior Enchanters are gone already..." Finn suddenly paused and looked her over thoughtfully. "You don't think your headaches are because of the Blight, do you?"

Philippa opened her mouth to deny the idea, but then quickly closed it with a frown. "Perhaps?"

"I mean... they say Darkspawn are related to the Fade and the Archdemons are the Old Gods awakened and tainted by the Blight. You said yourself that the ancient Tevinter dreamers used to worship the Old Gods. Maybe they were on to something," Finn said, getting up from his seat and heading into the stacks.

She watched him picking through a few tomes, his mind focusing to the singular task of gathering information to try and help her feel better. She smiled, wondering how she had gotten so lucky.

Finn had finally convinced Philippa to take a nap a few hours later when his research didn't garner any answers. She was jerked quite suddenly from her slumber by a sharp tug on the veil in the tower. It was accompanied by the clamoring of the spirits hovering in the Fade. They had enough time to shout 'danger!' before she woke. She got up from her bed and stumbled for the hallway. Yanking the door open, she blindly made her way toward the unnatural feeling that was piercing the Veil. Someone had consorted with a demon. She could feel the sticky presence.

Following the demon's lingering touch, her head began to throb again. It led her downstairs, through the library, and to the entrance to the common room. Beyond the doorway, a commotion was happening. Nearly a dozen templars, the First Enchanter, and a Chantry initiate were in attendance, some of them lying on the ground and others making their way back to their feet. The strange Grey Warden stood off to the side, watching everything with a calculating eye. A puddle of blood stained the stone floor, and in the middle of it all stood Solona, looking both shocked and appalled. She glanced around at everything before rushing to Irving's side. She dropped to her knees beside him, her fresh yellow robes collecting the blood on the floor, and placed her hands on his shoulder. "First Enchanter!"

Irving stirred, groaning. "Are you all right? Where's Greagoir?"

The Knight Commander got to his feet, his face red with outrage as he pressed fingers to his forehead. “I knew it... Blood magic... but to overcome so many... I never thought him capable of such power.”

Solona hung her head, her brown hair falling over her face to block her expression before helping the First Enchanter to his feet. “I can't believe he just did that.”

“None of us suspected this. Are you all right, Greagoir?” Irving asked, clutching a small wound in his side.

“As good as can be expected, given the circumstances. If you'd let me act sooner, this would not have happened!” Greagoir scolded. “Now we have a blood mage on the loose with no way to track him down!”

“He can't have gone far,” Solona said timidly, bending under the anger of the Knight-Commander. What in the Maker's name had happened?

“He will be very difficult to locate without his Phylactery,” Irving sighed. A sharp fear pierced Philippa's gut. Who was the blood mage?

Greagoir ignored them and grunted. “Where is the girl?”

“I... I am here, ser,” the Chantry initiate said quietly, stepping from behind a pillar near the basement stairs.

“You helped a blood mage!” Greagoir accused, bearing down on her. “Just look at all he's hurt.”

“Lily had no idea Jowan was a blood mage,” Solona spoke up boldly, her green-blue eyes defiant. _Jowan! Maker's tears, no wonder Irving had kept him from his Harrowing. He must have known,_ Philippa's thoughts raced.

The girl hung her head and closed her eyes. “You have been a kind friend, but you needn't defend me anymore. Knight-Commander, I... I was wrong. I was accomplice to a... a blood mage. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even... Even Aeonar,” the initiate said boldly.

“Get her out of my sight,” Greagoir growled to the couple of templars that had made it to their feet. “and you...” he turned his ire on Solona. “You know why the repository exists. Some artifacts some magics are locked away for a reason!”

“Did you take anything important from the repository?” Irving asked her calmly.

Solona shook her head wildly, the young girl Philippa knew appearing in seconds through the mask of the woman she now bore. She knew better. “No.”

“Very well, I believe you,” Irving sighed.

“But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle!” Greagoir looked her over and growled in frustration. “Ah, what are we to do with you?”

Solona opened her mouth and the only thing that came out was an excuse that Philippa could tell she regretted even as she said it. “I didn't know he was a blood mage.”

“And you think this excuses you?!” Greagoir said in outrage. “You helped a blood mage escape. All our prevention measures for naught! Because of you!”

Solona had no arguments left. She lowered her head again in defeat. What would Greagoir do? Philippa nearly stepped in to defend her, but suddenly, the Grey Warden broke his silence, stepping up beside Solona. “Knight-Commander, if I may. I am not only looking for mages to join the King's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens... Irving spoke highly of this mage and I would like her to join the Warden ranks.”

Before Greagoir could protest, Irving did so for him. “Duncan, this mage has assisted a Maleficar and shows a lack of regard for the Circle's rules.”

“She is a danger. To all of us!” Greagoir added.

The Warden scoffed. “It is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need. I stand by my decision. I will recruit this mage.”

“No!” Greagoir seethed. “I refuse to let this go unpunished!”

Solona shrank away from Greagoir and closer to the Warden as they argued over her like a piece of meat. “If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will gladly go,” she offered timidly.

“Greagoir, mages are needed. _This_ mage is needed,” The Warden said pointedly. “Worse things plague this world than blood mages. You know that... I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions.”

“A blood mage escapes, and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but is rewarded by becoming a Grey Warden!?” Greagoir was furious. “Are our laws nothing? Have we lost all authority over our mages? This does not bode well, Irving.”

“Enough,” the First Enchanter sighed. “We have no more say in this matter.”

“So, I am to be a Grey Warden?” Solona asked, barely checking the excitement in her voice.

“Yes.” Irving smiled slightly. “Be proud, child. You are luckier than you know.”

She returned his smile and the Warden led her toward the hall to the front door. “Come. Your new life awaits.”

Philippa could hardly believe what she had just witnessed. Little Solona, barely nineteen and fresh from her Harrowing was being led off to become a Grey Warden, and Jowan was a blood mage who had managed to destroy his Phylactery and escape. As the gathering recovered and began to disperse, Philippa moved from the doorway, uncertain if she should be caught eavesdropping on that particular fiasco.


	9. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ostagar is destroyed, Philippa must learn to cope with the news that her friend is dead. One of the senior enchanters strikes out against the Circle.

A few weeks passed in relative peace. The Circle was quiet with so many mages gone to Ostagar to fight against the Darkspawn. Philippa had volunteered to go, being the best battle mage in the Circle, but Greagoir had outright denied her request. It was apparent that even after her Harrowing ten years ago, he still didn't trust that she wasn't going to go running to the first demon that offered her ultimate power.

Anders was let out of his cage, but you wouldn't know it. He went straight to his bedroom and refused to speak to anyone, his skin pale and his face and robes shabby and unkempt. She had caught his eye on his way past, but all she received was an emotionless stare before he disappeared.

When Wynne and the remaining senior enchanters returned from Ostagar, it was with grave news. The army had been overrun by the Darkspawn, and the battle subsequently lost. By all accounts, the King was dead, and all of the Grey Wardens with them. Tears rushed to Philippa's eyes when she heard the news. Solona had been a dear friend, and far too young for that fate. So no one would see her cry, she headed up to the fourth floor to check in on the dragonlings and shed her tears alone. She barely made it past Thunder's cage when the sobs overwhelmed her. She stopped and leaned on the wall with a hand, the other over her aching heart. She gasped for breath around the choking grief. She hadn't even cried this hard three years ago when she had received a letter from her mother, informing her that her father had passed away. Solona and the rest of the Circle. They were her family. Losing Solona was like losing a sister.

A hand fell lightly on her shoulder. "Enchanter Hawke?"

She turned around, seeing his own grief flashing over Cullen's face. Solona had wormed her way into his heart as well, even if he was too much of a templar to ever admit it. Somehow, knowing he shared her pain on some level allowed her the strength to draw in a long ragged breath and roughly wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Ser Cullen. I just..."

"I know," he agreed solemnly. "I don't mean to stand in the way of your grief. I only thought to offer some comfort. Maker only knows how you must feel."

"Me?" she asked gently, wiping away more stray tears. "I know how you felt about her... No, don't protest. Just... I'm sorry, too." She threw caution to the wind in the deserted wing and wrapped her arms around the heavily armored templar, hugging him as best she could.

After a few moments of sputtered protests during which he stood stock still, he finally sighed and cautiously returned the hug briefly before pulling away and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Thank you," he mumbled gruffly.

Ever since the senior enchanters had returned, Philippa had a nagging headache that nestled itself directly behind her eyes and circled up into her forehead. Two days after, a cluster of the mages were called to a meeting with Irving, she and Finn among them. She was not looking forward to it with the headache thumping in her skull. Meetings like these were usually boring.

She had long since zoned out, her head throbbing as the usual back and forth of Circle business echoed around the meeting hall. Finn's foot nudged hers gently under the table and when she looked up, he was looking at her with a raised brow. Before she could answer it with any gesture of her own, their silent conversation was interrupted.

Philippa felt it the second the demon entered Uldred. She was blinded momentarily by an explosion of agony combined with a stunning spell that erupted around the room. Trying to regain her senses in the maelstrom of activity around her, she drew on her mana and erected a barrier around herself before dipping beneath the table to avoid any more of the magic being slung around the room. She cursed herself for leaving her staff in her bedroom, thinking she couldn't possibly need it for a simple meeting. "Finn!" she called out over the crackling of lightning, the steady 'whomp' sound of physical magic, and the other raised voices shouting. She crawled beneath the table to where he stood and grabbed hold of his robes to tug him down with her.

He crouched beside her. "The floor, Phil?" he complained in an aside as he stifled a spell he had readied in defense.

"Not the time, Finn... Uldred. He's an abomination." She cringed, gripping her head against the massive headache. "Argh, I can feel the demon." She paused, trying to breathe. "That spell he cast was a signal..." She snatched his hand and turned his palm upwards. She traced a sigil into his palm, pushing magic into the invisible etching. "There are more blood mages here than we know." When she finished the spell, a hand grabbed hold of her shoulder and yanked her from beneath the table, Finn with her.

"We need to get out of here," Cullen growled as he dragged them both towards the door.

Spells were bouncing off her barrier, weakening it by the second. She stumbled, the strain of the weakened veil and the influx of freshly summoned demons taking it's toll. She barely made it to the door and into the hallway before somehow her robes got tangled around her legs and she nearly hit the ground. She landed awkwardly in Finn's arms as Cullen stopped to turn on them. She whimpered as the demons on the other side of the veil clamored nearby, stirred by the activity, looking for a host, and pounding inside her head.

"What's the matter with her?" He asked Finn as Philippa sagged in his arms.

Finn shifted her back onto her feet, his hands on her upper arms. His magic slipped over her and she groaned. "It's the demons. They know what she is, and they're attacking her."

"She needs to get away from here," Cullen growled.

"Phil!" Finn's left hand came up to gently tap her cheek and draw her attention. "Phil, listen. We need to help the others... Focus, Weaver!" At the nickname, spoken aloud, she snapped to attention, fighting the fog around her to pay heed to the man in front of her. When he saw her eyes locked on his, he sighed softly. "Phil, you need to go... Head for the first floor and gather the children. I need to help Irving and the others."

She nodded slowly, walling up her connection to the Fade so she could think. "I want to help." She protested.

He smiled gently. "Help me by getting yourself safe. You're in no state to be casting."

She sighed heavily. "For Andraste's sake, be safe..." she begged before her eyes flicked to Cullen. "Both of you."

Finn surprised her by leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek before he pushed her gently toward the stairs. "Go..."

As she left his side, she prayed that the sigil she had traced in his palm would protect him from the blood mages. She hurried through the corridors, activity all around her. Uldred's signal had reached all of his minions. They had turned on the templars and small battles were being fought throughout the halls. She reached her room and grabbed her staff, the personalized glyph work she had carved into the wood, lending her a modicum of protection from the pounding in her skull as she activated the enchantments and replenished her barrier with new focus.

It wasn't far to the mages' library and the first floor from her quarters. She sprinted past the guest wing, running into Anders who was swinging his staff in an arc against an abomination. The monster that had once been one of her fellow mages snarled angrily. The top half of it's robes had completely ripped away when it turned, leaving the raw, discolored, and mutated skin exposed. It towered a foot above Anders, swiping it's long claws for his face. He barely blocked the attack. Charging forward, she drew on her mana, the pain jolting across her forehead as she reached for the Fade. She pointed the head of her staff toward the abomination and flames burst from the tip, lighting the thing on fire. It shrieked as she continued to assault it, moving to Anders' side.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" he asked her as the abomination fell dead and she pulled him back from the corpse before it exploded into a pile of ash and bone shards.

"Apparently Uldred has been practicing blood magic, and teaching some of his pupils to follow in his footsteps. He attacked Irving, and the rest of us in the meeting." She grabbed hold of his arm. "Come on. We need to get as many of the children to safety as we can."

He followed behind her, erecting his own barrier. "Are you all right, Phil? You look like death."

"It's the demons," she grunted, hurrying down the stairs toward the library where classes were likely being held at this time of day. "My head feels like it's splitting in two."

Anders seemed to find something amusing, chuckling as they passed through the catalog room. "Isn't it ironic? They spend so much time worrying about making sure you're being watched at all times, that they failed to notice the senior enchanter teaching apprentices blood magic."

"Jokes on them," she growled spitefully. "Now they're all dead... or soon will be if they can't get this under control."

They stepped into the library proper and Philippa saw Petra standing between a gaggle of young apprentices, bleeding profusely from her abdomen, and Wynne. The senior Enchanter was engaged with a flesh and blood demon that had been summoned. It slithered toward her like a slug, hovering off the floor. It was a lesser demon, Philippa noted. A shade. It attacked Wynne, and she fought back. Philippa had no time to rush to her aid as the demon lashed out it claws distinctly slashing across the mage's throat. Philippa jerked forward to aid her former mentor as both she and the demon fell to the floor. The demon's body puffed out of existence, but Wynne laid prone on the floor. Philippa knelt beside her, Petra close behind. She pressed her hands over the blood oozing from Wynne's neck and could not feel a pulse fluttering beneath her fingers.

Another presence slipped around Philippa's awareness and a moment later, Wynne's pulse returned and she coughed heavily, stirring back to consciousness. Philippa knew she hadn't healed Wynne, and Anders was all of the way across the library, checking that the coast was clear. She frowned slightly as Wynne sat up beneath her bloody hands. "Thank you for coming to my aid," the senior enchanter said with a slightly rough voice. "I thought I was done for."

Philippa opened her mouth, a brief protest sputtering out before Wynne's eyes widened and she shook her head so slightly that Philippa pressed her lips together, her own eyes narrowing. "We need to get the children to safety."

Wynne nodded and allowed Philippa to help her to her feet. They gathered everyone in the library and headed toward the children's dorms. Philippa noticed that Anders had disappeared, but her concern was not for him, but for the apprentices she could save. By the time they reached the front doors, they had been barred shut. "There's nothing for it. Greagoir will have sealed the doors, and will likely call for the Right of Annulment," Wynne said with a sigh. "If we are to keep these children safe, we must return to the common room and erect a barrier between us and the rest of the Circle. That should keep the demons and abominations at bay."

Once they had returned to the common room, Wynne personally erected a barrier in the archway to the library. The air shimmered with color, indicating for anyone approaching that it was there. Petra, Kinnon, and Keili, who had all been in the library when everything started, took the children under their wings, soothing away the tears and calming nerves so there would be no out of control emotions that might spark unwanted outbursts of magic among the younger ones. All in all, they had saved over half a dozen apprentices. It seemed a small number compared to the mages and templars still fighting upstairs.

Philippa sat down on a bench near the basement, pulling her legs up underneath her and pressing her fingers to her temples to try and rub away some of the lingering discomfort of being faced with flesh and blood demons and abominations. Her stomach was churning and her heart pounding with worry. Nearly everyone she cared about was up there fighting while she sat here nursing a headache. She should be there, helping.

Wynne soon joined her on the bench as the others entertained the children. With a gentle sigh, she said, "I suppose you have questions about what happened in the library."

Philippa looked up from where she had been staring aimlessly at the floor and sighed as well. "There's no need. I felt the spirit as it entered your body. Just like I felt it when Uldred's demon came through. It was different, though. It doesn't feel malicious."

Wynne smiled sweetly. "Silly me. Here I am forgetting just how special you are. It must be my age creeping up on me."

"I don't feel all that special right now. In fact, what I _am_ feeling is useless." Philippa buried her face in her hands, trying to hold back her tears, breathing in deeply to exhale, renewing her focus on the wall between her and the Fade and running her fingers through her messy hair. "Finn is up there fighting and I'm here, babysitting."

"It is no small responsibility to be in our shoes at the moment. These children are the future of the Circle, just as you were when you first got here. I must ask, however, what happened? What started all of this?" Wynne asked, an expression on her face saying she might already know, but needed confirmation.

Philippa sighed. "I've been having these headaches for weeks now. Finn and I suspected it might have something to do with the Blight, so I ignored them. Turns out they were warning me about all of the blood mages. I was fighting off a particularly nasty one this morning when I was called to the meeting with Irving. I didn't pay much attention to what was being said because of my head. Then all of a sudden, Uldred summoned a demon and the Void broke loose." She paused and frowned as Wynne nodded as if Philippa's story was solidifying her own theories. "Luckily, I had the presence of mind to hide behind a barrier and drag Finn under the table with me. I placed a protective sigil on him before Cullen dragged us out of the room. I don't know what happened after that. Finn told me to come down and help with the children because in all the chaos, I could barely see straight from all the demonic presence."

Wynne nodded in sympathy. "From what I understand, the presence of demons is agony for somniari. I... apologize if my own spirit is causing you any unease."

Philippa looked up at Wynne. "Even if it were, I honestly don't think I would be able to suss out the difference with everything going on here. It's chaos."

Wynne hummed softly and looked away. "Chaos that I may have had a hand in seeding. I was not entirely truthful with Greagoir after I returned from Ostagar. I told Irving about what really happened. The purpose of that meeting you attended today was to confront Uldred about a deal he and the Circle had been cultivating with Teyrn Loghain. I informed Irving about what really happened at Ostagar. The army was not overrun, they were betrayed... by the very same Teyrn Loghain who was offering the Circle freedom from the Chantry. If the First Enchanter could have been convinced, the mages would have turned on the King as well. Luckily Irving had still been waffling when the Teyrn acted."

Philippa sat straighter. "You might feel guilty, but this is not your fault, Wynne. Irving needed to know, and it was Uldred's choice to deal with a demon. The only shame is that so many followed on his heels."

The hours stretched into days, and Philippa's thoughts turned inwards. Her head was in constant agony, and the pain was making her nauseous. She had tried several times, but she couldn't reach Finn in the Fade and it made her fear the worst. She wished beyond anything that she could find out what was going on beyond Wynne's barrier. By the third day, the children were complaining of hunger, and it was becoming more difficult to keep them calm. The older mages, herself included, had kept them all watered by summoning ice into cups left around the dorms, and then melting it with a blast of fire.

Around mid-morning on the fourth day, it seemed like the demons and abominations in the tower had grown bored with whoever was left inside and discovered them on the other side of the barrier. She finally got a chance to fight, even through the pain. Some of the more clever demons found their way around the barrier to attack them. Wynne was in the middle of dispatching one such demon, a fiery pool of living lava built on rage, when Philippa heard someone approaching from the entry hall. Logically, no one that didn't mean them all harm should be coming from that hall. With her heart racing, ready to defend her charges, Philippa spun, lifting her staff and drawing her mana. She nearly dropped the weapon when she saw who was standing before her.

"Solona!" she gasped, wondering whether she had finally gone mad. "You're supposed to be dead."

The young mage had changed in the last few weeks. She stood proudly with her staff mounted on her back with a harness. She wore the uniform of the Grey Wardens, altered from the heavy plate that one of her companions was wearing, but in the same blue and silver. Somehow, she looked older, more mature, than when the Warden, Duncan, had led her from this very room. She crossed her arms and smirked slightly. "No quite, but you all look like you could use some help."

Wynne stepped forward, addressing Solona as Philippa gaped still in surprise. “You! Why have you returned? How did you get in? Are the templars attacking?”

Solona held up her hands to stave off Wynne's barrage of questions. “Don't worry, the Rite of Annulment hasn't arrived yet.”

Wynne visibly deflated, her arms going lax and her shoulders slumping. Philippa's own heart began to race as Wynne closed her eyes in defeat. “So Greagoir did send for it, then...”

“Yes, which means we don't have much time. He allowed me to come in to search for survivors, but won't open the doors for anyone but Irving,” Solona explained.

Wynne glanced back at Philippa and the others before she returned her gaze to Solona. “Allow me to come with you and we will find Irving together.”

Philippa grunted as Solona nodded brusquely, glancing at the other two people that had entered with her, before accepting Wynne's help. “We must clear the tower, and save as many as we can.”

Wynne straightened her red robes and brushed her short white hair into a semblance of a tail. “Phil... You and the others stay here and watch the children. I will return as soon as I can.”

“But Wynne,” Petra, said softly, her hand finding Wynne's shoulder. “You were so very hurt earlier. Are you sure you're all right? Perhaps I should come, too...”

"I should help, too," Philippa agreed. "Kinnon and Keili can watch after the others..."

Wynne smiled softly and took Philippa's hands in hers. “I will be fine. I need you here to help with the children.” Then she glanced at Solona. “Come. We shouldn't waste time.”

Wynne turned toward the barrier, and before she followed her, Solona stepped up to Philippa. "I'm so glad you're alive," she said, throwing her arms around Philippa's shoulders.

"Me?" Philippa scoffed. "We thought you were dead at Ostagar." She returned her friend's hug tightly.

"I'll tell you all about it after I save the Circle," Solona said with a chuckle, pulling away. Then she turned to her companions, one a woman around Philippa's age with bright red hair wearing simple studded leather armor, and the other a young man in his very early twenties in heavy Warden armor, a shield strapped to his back, blonde hair that stuck straight up in the front and kind blue eyes. She nudged the man. "See what happens? I leave for a few weeks and the whole place goes to shit..." She received a snort of laughter from the man for her trouble before he followed on her heel, looking as smitten as every other man that Solona came across, as she approached Wynne.

“I am surprised I was able to keep this in place for so long.” Wynne mused, studying her own barrier.

“Did it tire you out?” Solona asked, her carefree attitude disappearing to be replaced by the business end of her personality as she touched her hand to the barrier.

“I did what I had to to protect who I could... Step back.” Solona did as she was asked and Wynne twisted her fingers in a rapid motion. The barrier fell, the residual magic seeping across Philippa's skin.

She nearly followed after them as they disappeared through the door, but Wynne had asked her to remain behind. Once they disappeared into the library, Philippa replaced the barrier, hoping she was able to do as Wynne had and keep it in place for so long.

Wynne and Solona had been gone for hours. Philippa was beginning to get concerned. There were any number of horrible scenarios that flitted through her aching mind as the time passed. She had just found out Solona was alive. To lose her so soon after to this chaos would be unbearable, not to mention Wynne who had been like a mother to her for the last eighteen years. Finally, she couldn't stand not knowing any longer. She stood from the bench she was on and approached Petra. "Petra, would you mind taking over the barrier. I need to rest."

"Of course," Petra said with a sweet smile. She cast a barrier over the door and Philippa allowed hers to fizzle out.

She left the common room and headed for the dormitories. She settled herself on one of the beds and closed her eyes, drawing her mana around her. Walking the Fade was the easy part. Doing it while demons lurked the tower was a nightmare. As soon as she entered the familiar Fade constructed version of the tower, she left the bed she was in and set forth. Everywhere she looked, there were remnants of dead spirits stirring in the aether. They were accompanied by the howls of the trapped spirits of the deceased apprentices that she had been working so hard to free, yet could never figure out how. Philippa hugged herself as she made her way through the eerie backdrop.

Solona had apparently been very busy as she and her companions made their way through the tower. There was no trouble to be found until she reached the stairway that led to the fourth floor. Looking past the Veil into the real world required immense concentration, but Philippa persisted as the Fade flickered around her. She saw the reason for the disruption and cringed. All around the floors and walls, mounds of raw flesh in no discernible shape clung to every surface available. The Fade seemed to be manifesting itself in the real world.

The growths got thicker as she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and entered into the barracks. She drew back her sight. Knowing what the flickers were was more than enough information. Dread seeped into her as she neared the central spire that separated the barracks from the dragon pens. Something horrible was beyond that door.

Slipping into the spire, she stopped dead in her tracks, nausea overwhelming her. Something tugged at her consciousness and she fought back, struggling to maintain her hold on the dream. Someone, or something was fighting her for dominance of her thoughts. She took in her surroundings, noting that the world had been rearranged to meet the whims of the demon lurking there, and found the source in the center of the room. It was a demon, though she could not identify its nature. It stood in what it considered _it's_ domain, shaping itself to look like what she had only ever heard described as an Arcane Horror. It wore brown robes, distorted and jumbled around the emaciated shape of a human being. Its thin, stick-like arms were bare save for the wide golden bracelets around both wrists, and its features on it's face were obscured by a matching helm that looked to Philippa like a child had found the helm of a soldier and tried it on, the front falling down to cover their eyes. She crossed her arms as the demon glanced up from whatever it was doing. "You do not belong here, dreamer," it said in a droll and lethargic tone that tried to draw her in again.

"No," she agreed breathily. "But last I checked, you weren't supposed to be here either. Looks like we're both in the wrong place. Oops."

"It seems like a lot of effort for you to continue to resist. Come over here to me and I could help ease the pain you've been suffering. There's no need for you to endure such hardships when you could simply rest."

Philippa swayed slightly on her feet, but forced herself to think of everyone who needed her help. "We've not been properly introduced. Sloth, is it?" she jabbed, letting the demon know she was on to it.

Before it could answer, Solona appeared in a far corner of the room. She looked down at her hands as if checking she still had all of her limbs before glancing up with narrowed eyes and stomping toward the demon with fervor. Sloth looked her up and down before ignoring Philippa in favor of the new interruption. “What do we have here? A rebellious minion? An escaped slave?” The demon issued a horrifying laugh from it's faceless head. “My, my... but you do have some gall. But playtime is over. You all have to go back now.” It threatened as Wynne and Solona's other two companions appeared in a flash of magic.

“Oh, here I am! And there you are... You just disappeared. Oh, well, no matter,” The warrior with the kind eyes said with a shrug

“You tried to keep us apart!” The red head accused in a soft but thick Orlesian accent. “You led us from each other because you fear us, don't you?”

“You will not hold us, demon!” Wynne growled. “We found each other in this place and you cannot stand against us.”

“If you go back quietly,” the demon purred with it's unnatural resonance. “I'll do better this time. I'll make you much happier.”

“I'll make my own happiness, thank you,” Solona scoffed, crossing her arms. The young mage looked exhausted, but still she stood tall, looking the demon in the face and taunting it.

“Can't you think of someone other than yourself?” the demon taunted in return, its head turning so it glanced upon the warrior. “I'm hurt. So very, very hurt.”

“You'll get over it,” Solona growled angrily, drawing her staff.

“You wish to battle me? So be it... You will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!” The demon lifted into the air, swiping for Solona's exposed neck.

Philippa briefly wondered if Solona could see her, but that question was quickly answered as she came up to her feet from her dodge roll and chuckled. "Well, Phil, are you going to just stand there or lend a hand?"

Philippa shrugged as she closed her eyes and swiftly manifested a staff to help her focus. "It looked like you were handling things fairly well without me."

"Tell that to the king of naps!" Solona called out as the warrior attacked the demon with his sword and the woman began to pepper it with arrows. "He doesn't seem to get that we don't want to play."

"Demons are so inconsiderate," Philippa quipped.

They all fought together to whittle down the demon's resistance. It seemed to take ages for them to even look like they were making a dent in it's health. It continuously changed form whenever they thought it was finished. Solona had no qualms with stepping in and out of the fight to recharge her mana pool from the jutting blue crystals that peppered the room. It must have been raw lyrium. Philippa nearly smacked herself in the head for stupidity after wondering how she was able to do so without frying her nerves. They were in the Fade. That was not real lyrium and that was not Solona's real body. She must have been more affected by her headaches than she realized if that conclusion didn't come straight to her.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Solona took the final blow, shoving a fireball down the demon's throat. It roared in pain as the magic consumed it, leaving nothing more than a pile of charred flesh. Solona's warrior friend poked at the corpse with his sword before jamming it deep in the demon's skull. "I think you got it.”

“Thank the Maker,” Solona gasped nearly losing her balance as if all of her energy was sapped at once. Wynne was at her side in seconds, a cool blue mist hovering over her. Solona absorbed the healing magic with a thankful smile.

Suddenly, a familiar face appeared, just like Solona and her companions had before. “You defeated the demon. I never thought... I never expected you to free yourself. To free us both. When you return, take the Litany of Adralla from my...body.” He cringed slightly and sighed before continuing. “It will protect you from the worst of the blood magic.” Niall looked out of sorts, his cheeks sunken and his robes a tattered mess. Deep dark circles ringed his unfocused eyes. Philippa approached the group to listen in. She had apparently missed a lot.

“Aren't you coming to help?” Solona gasped.

“I cannot go with you,” he said sadly. “I have been here far too long... for you it will have been an afternoon's nap. Your body won't have withered away in the real world while your spirit lay in the hands of the demon.”

“You think you're going to die?” Solona asked with a frown.

“Every minute I was here, the sloth demon was feeding off of me, using my life to fuel the nightmares of this realm. There is so little of me left... I was never meant to save the Circle, or... survive it's troubles. I am dying. It is as simple as that.” He shrugged as if he had accepted the fate ages ago. Philippa had always liked Niall. He had never really been one for politics. He had been an isolationist and had dreamed of finding a quiet home away from everyone where he could practice his magic and study in peace. It seemed his dream would never come true.

“Is there truly nothing we could do?” Solona asked gently.

He smiled kindly at her. “Thank you, but it is too late for me. I do not fear what may come. They say we return to the Maker's side in death... and that isn't such a terrible thing. My only regret is that I could not save the Circle. But you... you can. Take the Litany off my... my body when you return. It is important.”

Solona gave one last final pat to Niall's shoulder and everyone began to fade around Philippa. She would have liked the chance to say goodbye, but it seemed with the demon's death, it's influence was waning quickly. Niall's spirit simply vanished, and Solona and the others woke. Philippa exerted her will briefly to make certain of that fact. When she looked through the Veil, she saw Solona getting up from the sticky floor and making her way over to Niall's lifeless body. She respectfully closed his staring eyes and carefully rolled him over to take a scroll from his robes. When she stood again, she gave the abomination's corpse a swift kick before backing away to allow it to explode.

Satisfied that Solona was back on the right track after wresting herself and the others free of the sloth demon, Philippa withdrew into the Fade. She wanted to explore further, to see if she could glean any news about Finn, or her other friends, but the walk through the tower and the exertion of the fight with the demon had sapped her energy. She felt utterly drained. She reluctantly drew herself from the Fade and back into her body. When she woke, she sat up on the edge of the bed, fingering the gift from Finn and praying he was all right. Niall had been helping to fight Uldred and the other blood mages and he had ended up a plaything for the sloth demon. Any number of similar fates could have befallen Finn. She tried desperately to shut off her brain and the images that kept flashing before her eyes. If anything happened to Finn, she knew she would feel responsible. She never should have agreed to stay behind.

After sitting alone for some time, Philippa had gotten up and went back out to check on the others. She had resumed barrier duty from Petra and now, she was sitting on the bench nearest the barrier door. One of the younger apprentices, a little blonde girl named Melody, had climbed into her lap, huddling close to her. She rocked automatically, trying to soothe the frightened child along with herself. Her light humming was suddenly interrupted by a spark from her mana. She jerked her head around, seeing what had interacted with her barrier.

A wash of relief rushed through her when she saw that it was not a what but a who. Solona stood on the other side, First Enchanter Irving leaning heavily on her, his arm draped over her shoulders. "Do you mind letting us out, Phil? I've had enough of this tower."

Philippa recalled the barrier and gently handed Melody over to Keili so she could assess the survivors. If nothing else, they would likely need healing. Her trek was interrupted as the most welcome sight she had ever laid eyes on came limping through the door. She stopped dead in her tracks as Finn spotted her and rushed toward her. Heedless of any germs she might be carrying, he swept her up in a tight embrace. She fell into his arms, tears immediately leaking from her eyes in relief. "Thank the Maker," she gasped breathlessly. She moved to draw back from the hug and assess his injuries, but he continued to hold her tightly.

"Just let it happen," he said softly, his breath warm and real and alive against her hair.

She let out a maniacal chuckle and tightened her own grip. "Now you've done it. Maker's tears, I'm never letting go."

He snorted softly. "Eventually I will need to wash the demon off my skin and burn these robes, but for now, a few more germs don't matter."

She sobbed uncontrollably, the days of worrying coming to a head. "I tried... I tried so hard, Finn. I couldn't find you in the usual place. I was so worried. I felt horrible leaving you behind."

"You didn't leave me behind," he insisted, finally pulling from the hug to gently brush the tears from her face. "Phil, you didn't. I made you go." He pulled her head to him and kissed her forehead before pulling her back into the hug. "It all worked out. We're both safe. It's all over." He held her just a few more minutes before pushing her out to arms length to get a good look at her, concern etched over his face. "How's your head?"

"Better?" she guessed, the dull ache behind her eyes still present, but she couldn't tell if it was from the tears now, or because of a lingering symptom of the exposure to the demons. "I'll let you know in the morning." She leaned in to briefly touch her forehead to his chest. "I really should lend a hand. Is anyone injured?"

Finn sighed heavily. "Most of the mages that Uldred got around to torturing are either dead or abominations and then dead. Solona has really grown into her power. I thought I'd gone mad when she appeared at the top of those stairs... The most pressing issue is probably weakness from undernourishment. There are a few scrapes and burns and maybe a broken bone or two from the fighting before hand..."

"I noticed you limping..." she hinted.

"I may have twisted my ankle getting out of the way of a stray spirit bolt during the fighting. I healed it a bit myself when no one was paying attention, but there was only so much I could do. Uldred was keeping our mana pretty drained once he got hold of us," Finn explained.

"Here," she allowed him to lean on her and guided him to the bench she had occupied previously. "Sit, let me have a look." She knelt in front of him and probed at his ankle with her fingers, making him hiss in disapproval. She looked up at him teasingly. "Don't be such a 'Flora'." His responding scowl was laced with adoration as she drew her mana forth and set the sprain by hand and mended the surrounding muscles. "There. Good as new."

"Thank you. Oh, and Phil, there's one more thing..." he lowered his eyes, cringing as if what he was about to say was painful. "On our way back down from the Harrowing Chamber, I saw what was left of the dragons. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, no," she gasped, dropping her hands into her lap as her heart gave a lurch.

Solona was gone as swiftly as she had appeared, leaving with a handful of the survivors, Neria and Faye among them, for Redcliffe Castle to save the Arl's son from a demon that was possessing him. Philippa was given no more details after she was yet again denied going to help. What use were her skills if she was never given reign to use them? Wynne left with Solona as well, given leave to travel with her and help aid her in fighting the Blight. Philippa assumed Wynne asked for the assignment to feel like she was making up for thinking she was the cause of Uldred's attempted coup.

It took all day to restore some semblance of order to the tower as the remaining templars began to filter back into the heart of the Circle. Only one of those templars that had been locked in the tower through the chaos had survived. Cullen was confined to a bed, yet he refused any type of magical treatment for his injuries. Whenever any of the mages got near him, he flinched, scowling as if he could have cared less if they had burst into flames or melted into a puddle before him. To be the only surviving templar, Philippa could almost see where he might harbor some resentment. From the assessment she performed at a distance, his injuries were minor. He was dehydrated and malnourished just like the rest of them, but Philippa guessed that Cullen's experience had been more mentally trying than physically. It was a shame, too. He had been one of the good ones. Where he had once harbored romantic feelings for a mage, now all he harbored was a deep resentment.

Once everyone's wounds had been treated and food had been brought in from across the lake, everyone left was confined to the apprentice dorms while the templars searched the tower for anyone not accounted for. The only missing person whose body could not be identified was Anders. When he disappeared from Philippa's sight in the library, he must have used the chaos to escape the tower. It would be a long time before the templars would be able to retrieve his phylactery from Denerim and track him down, especially with the state of the country. Greagoir still hadn't received the Right of Annulment from Denerim. He'd be lucky to hear anything from the capitol if what Wynne said was true.

Philippa's headaches persisted in spite of the demons all having perished. She attempted to ignore the worst of it, trying her best to help the others clean out the mess from the tower and restore some semblance of normalcy. After nearly a week, she thought if the throbbing persisted much longer that her skull might literally crack open. Certain parts of the tower were worse than others including the fourth floor central spire where the sloth demon had been, and the dining hall where they had found twice dead corpses during clean-up.

With so few templars remaining, her personal guard had been lifted, and the watch of the others was minimal at best. This was how Finn caught her before bed one night, curled up on top of her mattress, her arms wrapped around her head. He had wandered to her room to check up on her and wish her good night and walked in on her sobbing. The pain had become excruciating. "Phil," he said gently as he sat down on the edge of her bed. When she responded with no more than a whimper, he sighed heavily. "Tell me what I can do..."

She inhaled sharply as his hand landed lightly on her side. Since the coup, he had become mildly more comfortable with a small amount of physical touch, but that was not what she needed. She bit back more tears and slowly drew her arms down so she could look at him. His face was painted in concern. "I'm sorry, Finn," she said softly. "There's nothing you can do." She sat up slowly and he shifted to give her room, his hand sliding to her back to help steady her. "With everything that happened, the Veil surrounding the tower... It's practically non-existent. I can feel every demon that passes by as if it were walking in this world. I can't..." her heart lurched as she realized the truth. She looked up at him with her glossy eyes, knowing her pain was etched in her gaze. "I can't stay here, Finn. Kinloch Hold is too damaged."

His expression betrayed his heartbreak and he schooled it much too late, clearing his throat. "You... You're going to put in a transfer request?" he asked, his voice choked.

"You know I never would if I had a choice, Natty, but this pain... You can't know how this feels... I'm sorry..." She inhaled a shuddering breath trying to stifle her tears, hoping that her use of his nickname might help convey her own heartbreak at having to pack up her entire life and leave everything behind, him included. She hadn't felt this helpless since she had first come to the Circle as a child.

"No," he said calmly. "I can't understand... and for that, I'm sorry. For all my reading and expertise, I can't help you..."

She held out her hand, palm up, her knuckles resting on the mattress. He drew his hand from her back and gingerly laced their fingers together. "Promise me you'll keep in touch..." she requested.

"I'll write as often as I can," he agreed with a small smile.


	10. Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa's entire life gets rearranged when she needs to transfer to a new Circle to escape the damaged Veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Philippa and Finn. They were getting so close. I'm a bad person. lol

Within the month, Philippa's request for a transfer was approved and her meager possessions were packed in a bag. Before she left, her friends gathered in the common room to say their goodbyes. Neria and Faye had both survived the coup no worse for the wear. Philippa tried not to think about the not so lucky ones, Niall and Ren among the most immediate tragedies.

She and Finn had both shed their tears the night before in a private goodbye that earned her a real life kiss after which she had to laugh at his struggle to remain calm when she had slipped her tongue into his mouth. He had ultimately forgiven her and they had spent the rest of the night lying side by side on her bed, simply talking. She cringed at the thought that she would never get to do that again. She would likely never see Finn again. Even if they corresponded in letters, she would never get to watch his expression change as he spoke from thoughtfulness to excitement or worry. She could never again pretend she saw a spot on his robes and drive him batty as he tried to find out where in spite of the fact that he knew her well enough to know that he shouldn't fall for the same trick again.

Her parting left a bitter taste in the back of her throat as she stepped from the large entry doors into the harsh winter sun that beat off the snow that had dusted the path down to the lake, blinding her. The cloak she had been given to wear over her robes was of fine make, lined with fur and large enough that she could huddle it around herself. She pulled the hood up over her bare neck and followed the stiff stride of the templar ahead of her.

Cullen was definitely not the man she remembered. From his rigid posture and grim demeanor, she could tell that he was wishing that he was making the journey to Kirkwall alone. When they had made completely different requests for transfer, Irving and Greagoir had deemed it a suitable compromise that Cullen could simply serve as Philippa's guard so they wouldn't lose any more templars while the Circle was in such dire straights. She was even less pleased than he was. Having to be on the receiving end of his ire for the entire trip was going to grow tiresome. Every time she spoke, he flinched, and every time he looked in her direction, his brow furrowed at the very least. At the worst, he would outright scowl, his lip curling back with hatred.

Ferelden winters were harsh. That much she found out on their first day out of the tower as the ferryman poked large chunks of ice away from the sides of the boat with his pole. She sat on a small bench near the side of the ferry, huddled in her cloak, drawing a subtle barrier around herself to block the icy wind that was whipping over the deck. Cullen didn't seem to notice the cold as he assisted the ferryman, shifting his own chunks on the opposite side of the deck from where she sat. They entire day was spent ferrying across the lake, and when they reached the docks, they were put up in the inn for their first night because of the expected blizzard to the north. Philippa kept to herself as they ate and headed straight for her room afterwards. She was already missing her friends.

In the morning, they set off toward the east following the King's road where they would continue through the Bannorn until they reached Benblane where they could find secure passage to the north in Harper's Ford. With the Blight ravaging the country, West Hill had fallen under the Darkspawn, making it impossible to make the crossing from there, and Highever was having problems of it's own if the scant news could be believed. Therefore, she was stuck on a trek across the country with a jumpy templar through the dead of winter. She was seriously considering rescinding her transfer request and going back to the migraine inducing Circle.

Cullen walked ahead of her at the beginning, craning his head every few minutes to be sure she was keeping up. Her toes were numb by the time they stopped for lunch, the few inches of snow on the roads having made it's way into her slippers. When he realized she was having trouble keeping up, he took up the rear. When she protested that she had no idea where she was going, he told her to simply follow the road. Spitefully, she took the lead.

That night, Cullen gathered wood to start a fire, but the layer of snowfall made proper kindling difficult to come across. After she sat on a stump for nearly an hour, still freezing as he grumbled to himself, his bare hands reddened from clutching the flint and trying to get a fire started, Philippa sighed. Without much thought beyond she was cold and hungry, when he drew his hands back to curse again and set aside his tools, rubbing his palms together, she drew on her mana and shot a spark at the kindling. The stack of sticks and twigs he had erected caught fire and he stumbled back. Before he even uttered a word, his sword was in his hand and the smite hit her like a charging druffalo. She dropped off the stump, gasping for air as his templar talent drained the mana from her, taking her breath with it. Her chest tightened and it felt like she had been punched in the gut. He stood there, staring with his mouth open in surprise, as if he wasn't certain how she had gotten on the ground. As she slowly regained her breath, the world exploding briefly with little black dots over her vision, she managed to get onto her hands and knees, still gasping and coughing. He didn't move from where he stood, sword still in hand.

With the first full breath she was able to drag into herself, she spun her head to glare at him and shouted. "What in Andraste's name was that for!?" She wheezed, coughing again before sitting back, leaning against the stump she had been on top of moments before. When all he did was look from her to the sword and back again, she rolled her eyes. "Whatever bloody happened in that tower, I wasn't part of it!" she drew in a few more ragged breaths. "Maker's tears! I can't say that being on the receiving end of a templar's smite is an enjoyable experience..." She leaned her head back on the stump, closing her eyes to recover her mana and the rest of her breath.

Cullen's sword finally found it's sheathe, and she heard him sit down across the now roaring fire. She honestly wouldn't have been surprised if he'd snuffed it and tried to start again with the reaction he'd had. After a long, drawn out silence, she opened her eyes again and dragged herself back onto the stump. "You should have warned me," he grumbled, his attention drawn by her shuffling movements. That was all he said. There was no apology, no asking if she was all right.

She cut her eyes at him, annoyed. "Fine. No more unsanctioned magic. You're welcome for the fire, by the way. I'm so glad I didn't melt your icy glare. We couldn't continue without that."

Instead of acknowledging her sarcasm, he sighed and grabbed his pack from beside him. After fishing around in it, he drew out a small wooden box. Curious, she inched toward the edge of the stump so she could see what he was doing around the fire. A dim blue glow lit up his face when he opened the box, and she realized that it was his lyrium kit. She had never seen a templar prepare lyrium before. Unlike mages, they took the stuff daily rather than only when it was needed. The effects on a templar's system were different than those for a mage. They experience a boost in their abilities, as well as over time it unfortunately wreaks havoc on their minds which usually ends in a rather nasty form of dementia after years of forgetfulness and often times paranoia. If they are cut off from it, most go mad within a month if not properly weaned. She had never heard of anyone that successfully stopped taking lyrium.

From across the camp, she really couldn't see much, and she figured that asking him for a tutorial would likely earn her more scowling, so she took in what she could through the dancing flames of the fire. Cullen made the preparations slowly, as if he had only done it a handful of times before. Likely he was handed the stuff already prepared while in the Circle. Tranquil busy work. His expression was concentrated, his brow furrowed. She caught glimpses of a small spoon and a brown leather bulbous tool, but what he was doing was mostly hidden behind the open lid of the kit. When he was finished, he set aside a tiny vial of the glowing liquid and closed up his kit to secure it in his pack.

He did not immediately ingest the prepared lyrium. First, he passed her some rations and began to eat, himself. It was a simple meal. Bread, jerky and a piece of fruit. After she ate, she laid down her bedroll near the fire for warmth and settled in to get a little bit of sleep before the long trek ahead of them. She was unused to so much walking, her feet already putting up a fuss inside her thin slippers. Finn likely would have gone insane already with how muddy her feet and the hem of her robes had gotten. She fingered the bracelet on her wrist, thinking of him.

She heard Cullen preparing his own bedroll. He removed the plate pieces of his armor and set them aside, quiet clanking sounds painting her a picture without her outwardly watching him. More shuffling and then he began to mumble softly. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw him kneeling on his bedroll, the glowing vial clasped between his folded hands that he held before him. She had seen people in the Chapel praying before and wondered what it felt like to believe so wholeheartedly in a higher power in spite of the fact that the Chantry taught that the Maker had abandoned Thedas. She turned away from him so he would have privacy. It wasn't her place to question his beliefs, especially after the trauma he had clearly suffered at Uldred's hands. Everyone needed something to cling to.

The rest of their trip was no less awkward while Philippa strolled down the King's Road apparently talking to herself. Cullen was quite good at ignoring her after all of the years he had to practice while following her around the tower. She missed the kind young man that stammered when she made inappropriate jokes. Much to his annoyance, she took to calling him Sullen Cullen, getting a good chuckle out of the rhyme every time she laid it on him. The day they crossed into Harper's Ford, Cullen stopped her on the road with a frustrated grumble. "When we get to Kirkwall, you can't just talk to the Knight-Commander like this. I know you're used to having the ear of every one in the tower, but this blatant insolence won't be tolerated. Greagoir was far too lax. From what I understand, Knight-Commander Meredith does things properly."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "Sooo... What? Because I'm a mage, in spite of being Harrowed, I'm to pretend I don't like having these gifts? I enjoy what I do and I'm good at it. I don't need some demon's help... I'm not Uldred. He was weak," she spat.

Cullen's eyes flashed dangerously as he took a step forward. "You are the worst of the lot!" he shouted. "They told me when I was tasked as your guardian what you were capable of. Demons flock to you like a bitch in heat. All it takes is a split second of weakness..."

She valued her limbs attached to her body and her breath in her lungs, so she resisted slapping him across the face, but she did not back down. "You have been at Kinloch eight years! In all that time, have I _ever_ given you reason to think I would stoop so low? Apparently Uldred didn't think so, because I was never invited to join his little coup. I learned at a very young age what the meaning of resistance is." Every time she said Uldred's name, Cullen's eye twitched. She was dying to ask him what had happened, but he no longer trusted her. She would get nothing from him. She took a deep breath, calming herself before her mana seeped out of control. _My magic will serve the best in me, not that which is most base._ It had been a long time since she had needed to repeat that phrase to herself. She lowered her voice and continued. "I'm sorry... For whatever happened to you. I wish I could help... I do, but blaming every mage for the mistakes of a few... It's no way to go about being a templar."

With her lowered tone, he took a step back. Neither did he admit he was wrong nor continue to argue. He couldn't be wrong, because being wrong meant admitting his suffering and giving acknowledgement to his trauma when all he wanted to do was forget. He simply took her by the arm, his hand tightly gripping her bicep and pulled her along behind him toward the city gates. She realized that arguing with Cullen would get her nowhere. He was a victim. His views were twisted by the events that he had endured during his imprisonment. The only way she would ever get through to him was to slowly appeal to his reason, for he was anything but naive.

After that day, she refused to rise to his bait, enduring the week long boat ride across the Waking Sea in relative silence. Many of the other passengers on the boat gave her a wide berth because of the very obvious staff that she carried on her back. Since she and Cullen were not refugees like the majority of the folks fleeing Ferelden, they had been given a small cabin, away from the wailing children and terrified adults that occupied the hold.

Philippa used the time while Cullen slept to explore the Fade away from the Circle. She had never been so far away before. Unfortunately, the Fade that occupied the space over the ocean was none too interesting. There were no memories to delve into that didn't involve sunken ships and the occasional pirate raid, but their own ship moved too fast for her to truly linger among the spirits there. She was tempted to try and contact Finn, but he was so far away. She didn't think she would be able to reach that far.

The morning that they reached Kirkwall's harbor, Philippa made her way onto the deck to catch a glimpse of the city before they got to Circle. It spoke to the general mindset of the people of Kirkwall that the Circle of Magi was housed in a former prison tower known as the Gallows. Philippa had to remind herself that she had chosen to leave Kinloch Hold of her own volition as the boat sailed into the docks just outside the Gallows itself. She had been too late to catch a glimpse of the wall that the city was named for with stone carved effigies that depicted the Old Gods. Her first glimpse of the city was of the massive statues that towered over both sides of the water way into the harbor. The 'Twins' they were called, humongous bronze men hunched and broken, their faces hidden in their own hands in a pose of suffering. When she had learned that she was going to Kirkwall, Philippa had read all she could about the City. Similar, smaller, statues lined the Gallows Courtyard where slaves had been beaten and hung daily when the city had still been under Tevinter rule. Newcomers to the center of slave trade were forced to look upon the horrible goings on in hopes that it would break their spirits. Between the Twins, huge chain nets could be raised to block passage through the narrow waterway. The city itself was built along fault lines in the mountain, the twisting and turning streets meant to confuse and discourage revolts.

As she gaped at the ominous stone walls and buildings that made up most of the city, Cullen found her, her pack in his hand. She took it from him, slipping it onto her shoulders as he too took in the sight of their new home. His reaction was wordless and stoic as the ship dropped anchor and slipped into the dock. They were some of the first passengers allowed off the boat. The smell of the docks followed them from the boat, recently dead fish and salt water. Cullen led her with a hand firmly on her elbow through the throng of people on the docks and crowded around the entrance to the Courtyard. "I _can_ walk on my own, you know," she reminded him with a grunt.

"That's it," he barked in his own sardonic tone. "Get all of the snark out now before we meet the Knight-Commander. I doubt she'll find it amusing."

"And you do?" she wondered in mock awe. "You could have fooled me."

They passed a lone city guard holding back the crowds of refugees that were pouring off several different boats. The man looked exhausted. Once in the courtyard, his grip on her elbow loosened, but he did not release her. She took a moment to look around at the shops and stalls set up around the perimeter of the courtyard. Some of them were manned by enthusiastic merchants hawking their wares, but others, she noticed, were manned by stoic men and women with the Chantry brand on their forehead. The number of tranquil was staggering. As she attempted to count them, her stomach sank in genuine concern.

At the top of a grand entry staircase, a group of templars stood like ducks in a row. Smack dab in the middle stood a woman who could be none other than Meredith Stannard herself. She wore typical templar armor from the waist down, but her midriff was covered by a form fitting chain shirt that she reinforced over her chest with a short cuirass and large spiked pauldrons. Her long, wavy blonde hair was draped with a red hood that she kept secured with a golden circlet across her forehead that stuck up in a sharp point in the middle. Her piercing blue eyes settled calculatingly on Philippa, even as she addressed Cullen. "Welcome to Kirkwall Ser Rutherford. I don't know how much Greagoir has told you, but based on your service record that he forwarded to me, I have decided that you will be serving in a greater capacity here in Kirkwall. You will be my new Knight-Captain."

Cullen's hand dropped from Philippa's elbow in shock and he immediately clamped his fist over his chest and bowed slightly. "Th... thank you, Knight-Commander. I shan't disappoint you."

Meredith finally took her eyes off of Philippa and actually smiled. "I should hope not. I do not take duty to the Maker lightly." She waved a hand and another of the templars stepped forward. "Ser Samson, show our new Knight-Captain to where he will be staying temporarily. Once you have settled in, report back to me and we will discuss your new duties."

"Of course, Knight-Commander," Cullen agreed, following after the other knight.

Meredith's eyes fell on Philippa again. "As for you..."

A voice interrupted her from behind and without turning, Meredith gritted her teeth in annoyance. "Not so fast, Meredith..." The speaker moved around the line of templars to stand before Meredith. He was an elf, tall and thin in stature, with greying hair slicked back off his face. He was just beyond middle aged with intelligent green-yellow eyes that narrowed when he stopped in front of the Knight-Commander. He was dressed in finely made mages' robes in a midnight blue ornamented with a stripe of red and gold sash down the front. A cowl stood up from his neck line, ringing his neck and head. The staff he carried was very Tevinter in style, three black snakes twisting around each other to make the head. "I'll not have you bullying our newest talent before she even steps foot in the door."

Meredith gritted her teeth. "First Enchanter Orsino. As you recall, Knight-Commander Greagoir sent specific warnings about this mage before you accepted the burden of housing her..."

Again, Orsino cut Meredith off. "They were not warnings. He outlined her unique abilities and informed us of her stellar record at Kinloch Hold."

Philippa almost chuckled. That was certainly one way of putting it. She was thoroughly convinced that Greagoir had not intended his letter to be interpreted in such a way. Instead, she hummed in amusement. "It seems I am to be fought over like a piece of meat. I was _never_ this popular back home."

Meredith's piercing blue eyes settled on her own and Philippa refused to back down. She was not worthy of Meredith's scorn any more than she was Cullen's. "There will be a thorough examination of her belongings before she is sent to her quarters. Orsino, I trust you will explain to her the rules here in the Gallows."

"Of course, Meredith," with barely a tip of his head, he set a hand on Philippa's back and guided her around the templars toward the front door. Two of the templars broke off to follow them. "I apologize for Meredith," he said gently. "She can get a little overzealous when she smells anything she thinks she could label as blood magic."

"It's quite all right. I was never really a favorite among the templars in Ferelden either," Philippa mused.

"Forgive my manners. I am Orsino, First Enchanter here in Kirkwall. I was the one who personally reviewed your request for transfer, Philippa," he explained with a deeper tip of his head than he had given Meredith.

"I go by Phil," she corrected with a smile.

He nodded. "As you wish... So I understand you were Harrowed at fifteen? Is that correct?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "After my Harrowing, I continued my studies in the creation branch and battle magic. My electives were astronomy and cryptozoology. I was also granted permission by First Enchanter Irving to formulate my own studies around my own unique abilities."

"Which I have no doubt are fascinating!" he said in excitement. "It is why I agreed to accept you here in Kirkwall. We are always looking for new talent. In spite of our reputation, we have a lot of opportunities for mages to flourish."

Orsino took her through the Gallows, showing her where everything was, and she was reminded of when she had first arrived at Kinloch Hold and been given the tour by Finn. Again, she felt a pang of remorse as thinking of him made her miss him. The Gallows felt much more empty than Kinloch had. There were no apprentices passing time in the common areas, no laughter traveling along the corridors, and they never passed another soul outside of the classrooms. They ended up in Orsino's office and he offered her a seat, shooing the templars so he could speak with her privately. As she sat, she glanced around his office. It was much smaller than Irving's had been but no less stocked with books and artifacts, "I must say," she admitted after poking at a few of the knickknacks he had on his desk. "I wasn't expecting the grand tour from the First Enchanter himself."

He sighed his agreement. "Normally, I would delegate the task to another Enchanter, but I had a feeling, under the circumstances, that Meredith might cause a fuss if your initiation was not seen to with the utmost care. So here we are."

"I don't mean to cause a fuss," she said by way of apology.

"Nonsense, it's actually a relief to have something other to do besides endless paperwork and doing my best to avoid Meredith," he said with a smile. "Now that we're here, tell me about your day to day in Kinloch."

She explained her schedule to him and as she spoke, he began to frown. "Forgive me, but you have been harrowed for eleven years and you were never assigned a mentor position?"

She shrugged. "I don't think Greagoir and Irving could agree on what to do with me." Then she chuckled. "The last apprentice they asked me to take under my wing escaped the Circle half a dozen times in the fifteen years he was there. Three of those times were when we were apprentices and I was still technically responsible for him. Then once Greagoir found out what I was, he shortened my leash."

"That is unfortunate." He hummed carefully, resting his elbows on the desk so he could look her over, his fingers steepled. "I won't make any promises, but let me see if I can talk Meredith into allowing you into a mentoring or teaching role. That is if you're interested."

"I can't exactly teach anyone else to be a somniari, but I am a fair battle mage... in theory. The only time I actually put my skills to use was in the Fade. I was also one of the top students in my class for Creation and spirit healing," she agreed, eager to feel useful.

He smiled kindly. "Then I will speak with Meredith. In the meantime, you will have time to acclimate to your new home. There are, unfortunately a few rules here in the Gallows that the Knight-Commander insists upon that will be much different from what you're used to. We have a girl's and a boy's wing for our apprentices. They sleep four to a room for the younger children and two as they get older. The harrowed mages also sleep two to a room, so you will be given a roommate. Once a week, inspections are done by the templars to look for contraband or paraphernalia. Schedules are strictly adhered to. If any mage is caught outside of where they should be at any given time, they are confined to their room for a first infraction. Second infraction, they spend a night in the cells, and by the third, Meredith steps in. Her punishments rarely fit the crime, so I suggest caution. I'm sure you witnessed the Tranquil in the courtyard..."

Philippa frowned. "When you say 'contraband', what exactly isn't allowed?"

"There is usually a list of certain herbs and objects that are not allowed to leave the classrooms or laboratories, but I am going to assume that in your years, you have discovered certain potions and focusing objects that you will need that aren't regularly available. Make me a list, and I will have those things reviewed by Meredith."

Philippa nodded. "I only have a few personal items that I brought with me, but each of them holds tremendous sentimental value..."

"Fear not. I will personally be doing the inspection of your belongings before I show you to your room. Once your items are cataloged, Meredith will have no reason to believe them harmful. You have my word," Orsino assured her.

Orsino had her set her things out on his desk and he checked them over. Her glass dragon, her stack of letters and cards that she'd saved, her dream-catcher, and her two bracelets. Once he had cleared everything, he led her to a room in the enchanters' wing. It was about the same size as hers had been back in Ferelden, but the space was much more tightly used. It was divided down the middle, each side identically furnished. The bed frames and mattresses were just large enough for one and pushed flush with the back corners. At the head of both beds was a small nightstand with a drawer and candle holder set atop it. At the foot of the beds was a storage chest for clothing and spare sheets. A simple desk and chair finished off the last bit of space on both sides.

When they entered the room, a woman that looked to be about Wynne's age looked up from her desk and smiled kindly. Her hair was in the awkward stage to turning from her natural brown to a dull grey and she had it pulled off her neck in a loose tail that trailed over her shoulder. She set down a magnifying glass that she had been using to read and her grey eyes focused on them both in turn. "To what do I owe the pleasure, First Enchanter?"

"Good day, Mharen. I've brought you a new roommate," Orsino said a bit more loudly than he had been speaking previously.

The woman's eyes fell on Philippa and Philippa put on her best smile. It was time to impress the new neighbors. "It's a pleasure, Mharen. I'm Phil."

Mharen studied her briefly. "You don't snore, do you? My last roommate snored like a bronto."

Philippa chuckled. "You know, I never thought to ask the other apprentices. Perhaps if I do, you could let me know and I'll stuff a cork in it."

Mharen looked briefly taken aback, but then she smiled again. "I like her, Orsino. You should bring me more young ones. Maybe something will rub off."

Orsino hummed his own chuckle. "We should all be so lucky. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I have business to attend to."

He bowed out and Philippa stepped fully into the room. "Welcome to Kirkwall," Mharen said with a sigh. "Not that it's the most accommodating place for those with magical talents, but I'm sure you'll manage." Then she looked over Philippa again, eyeing her road muddied robes. "You poor dear, you look as if they dragged you through the muck to get here. I saw some of the tranquil delivering some supplies this morning. I'm assuming it was in preparation for your arrival. Go on and have a look through the footlocker. Get something clean and I'll show you to the washrooms."

"That's very kind," Philippa said with a smile. "I do feel a bit caked on."

After a warm bath and a fresh set of robes, Philippa felt much better. The robes in Kirkwall were made of thicker material than the ones in Ferelden and the color, a dark teal, was much more complimentary than the awful yellow. The sleeves and over skirt were edged with white fur and the shoulders had thin golden colored leather pauldrons that partially covered the bare shouldered design of the cloth section. A double belt hugged her hips and held the ornamental pouch, where the Enchanters' symbol was stitched, that rested in a particularly attention grabbing spot if you asked her. The boots she wore were not made for long treks, but they were much sturdier than the slippers that she had worn all her life.

Lunch followed soon after her freshening up and during that time, was the first glimpse she caught of Cullen since he had been led off on the steps. He looked nearly as road weary as she had felt, but he stood stiffly at Meredith's side as they observed the mages as they went about the business of lunch. And business was definitely the proper term for it. Hardly anyone spoke to each other and when they did, it wasn't without timid and cautious glances for nearby templars. Philippa hadn't had a proper meal in over two weeks and she ignored the stares of the other mages as they noticed the new person among them. Soon, hushed whispers began to undulate across the dining hall as she filled her tray and went to find a seat.

She ate in silence, observing those around her and the general fear that permeated the room. The Gallows stank of it. The mages here were terrified. It was nothing like Kinloch Hold, where meal times were lively and full of light conversation. It had been so even after the whole place fell apart. Those left alive were glad to be so and it showed in their interactions with each other. Here, it was as if they were terrified of getting too attached to anyone.

"Well, if it isn't grand to see a familiar face from my apprentice days..." A tall man whose hair was graying slightly along with is neatly kept beard sat down across from her and smiled warmly. His ice blue eyes met hers and she recognized him right away.

"Maker's breath! Karl? I had nearly forgotten you had gone to Kirkwall," she gasped in surprise.

He cringed slightly and sighed heavily. "It was not by choice. I believe the Knight-Commander suspected what was going on between Anders and myself. He had me transferred to discourage the relationship..." He paused and looked her up and down before biting his lip cautiously. "Have you any news of Anders? How does he fare?"

She chuckled lightly. "At the current moment, I have no idea. A lot happened in Ferelden in the last few years. After you left, he managed to escape... again... and was caught in West Hill on the docks, likely trying to find passage here. After that, he was much more careful, but even with all of his planning, he was still brought back after being gone two months. That time earned him a full year in solitary..."

"Maker's breath," Karl said with a pained expression.

"He was understandably sullen when he got out, but he bounced back. I saw him right before his last disappearance when the Circle was turned on it's ear. He used the chaos to escape. They still hadn't been able to retrieve his phylactery from Denerim when I left," she finished.

"If you don't mind... what exactly happened at Kinloch Hold?" Karl wondered.

Philippa cringed as she remembered the relentless migraines and the ceaseless worry. So many had perished. "I would... I'm sorry, Karl. I would rather not talk about it."

"I understand. Thank you... For the news on Anders. I worry about him," Karl sighed.

"I'm pretty certain I know that particular anxiety well," she agreed with a sing song tone. "So what is it like here? I've only just arrived, but from the way people behave, you'd think they made you tranquil for talking out of line."

Karl cringed again. "You jest, but that is not very far from the truth. I've kept my head down since I got here, and I would recommend you do the same."

Philippa was never one for taking advice. She found that being in a different Circle among different people did not change that particular aspect of her personality. The last thing she meant to do was keep her head down. Her first night, she penned a letter to Finn.

_Dearest Natty,_

_As I write this letter, I realize that my new environment may not even allow it to pass outside these walls. Yet, I feel the need to let you know that Cullen and I arrived in Kirkwall no worse for the wear. My clothes, on the other hand, were dreadful. You would have hated it. Mud... everywhere._

_I had a long conversation with the First Enchanter here as he explained the rather irksome rules of being a mage living in the Gallows. On the bright side, I don't seem to have yet acquired a new templar shadow. I do have a roommate though. She seems like a very nice woman if a bit older and hard of hearing._

_I haven't had much chance to meet anyone else, since apparently it is extraordinarily impolite to speak at any volume that the templars can hear, even in the dining hall during meals. I haven't quite figured the reason that everyone is so scared, here, but I understand it has something to do with pissing off the Knight-Commander. I did, however, run into Karl. Anders would be so jealous..._

_First Enchanter Orsino took some notes as we spoke and will be addressing Knight-Commander Meredith to get permission for me to possibly become a mentor or a teacher. For now, I am at a standstill, unable to wander my new 'home' because it is forbidden to be caught anywhere that your schedule doesn't place you. I almost wish I had decided to endure the headaches back there in Kinloch._

_Missing you, Weaver_

She remained in her standstill for nearly a week before she was finally presented with her very own schedule. She stood in Orsino's office, clutching the parchment between her fingers and glaring. "You can't be serious," she growled, glancing up at the First Enchanter.

Orsino had the decency to look ashamed, averting his gaze as she stared him down. "I warned you that Meredith..."

"You realize I spent my days in Kinloch tending dragons and raising children...?" Philippa said, cutting him off. "Now, I'm set to tranquil work? This is ludicrous."

Orsino held up his hands. "I apologize. I did everything I could, but your daily activities in Kinloch is not what Meredith is concerned about. She worries more about what a mage with your particular talents would get up to while everyone else was asleep. I've been pleading since your arrival, but she will not budge."

Philippa sighed heavily. "Lovely..."


	11. Karl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa's life verges on droll as she is set to menial work in the Gallows.

By the end of her first month in the Gallows, Philippa was beginning to believe that she had never actually escaped Kinloch Hold, and her boring and monotonous everyday life was all part of an elaborate trap set by one of the demons to goad her into possession. She could have believed it if she didn't know better. Philippa's list of duties included re-shelving books in the library for most of the day and flagging any 'inappropriate' material that might have made it's way into the Circle by 'accident'. Three times a week, she was escorted outside to the courtyard to keep the weeds trimmed that grew between the little cracks in the stone. The rest of her afternoon was spent in the inner courtyards maintaining the gardens, and then up in the rookery where she cleaned up after the birds. The only nice thing about her position was that she had access to the enchanted ravens that lived in the rookery. If she was careful, she could send and receive letters without anyone knowing.

She did not have a particular escort like she had in Kinloch, so she was subjected to several different templars with varying degrees of risibility. Most of them couldn't take a joke if their lives depended on it. Some were kind, however, like Ser Thrask. He was a middle aged man with bright red hair and a thick pointed goatee to match. Another, Ser Samson, had a smart mouth, but she knew for a fact that he was sneaking love letters between a pair of mages. Every now and again, she would run into Cullen in the halls or out in the courtyard while she was patrolling for rogue weeds. Those ventures outside were the only times when she felt particularly like a person. There were any number of folks in the courtyard on any given day, buying merchandise from either the tranquil or the resident herbalist, Solivitus, who like Solona preferred to go by Sol. Philippa was usually given a bit of a longer leash while out in the courtyard because of the sheer number of templars that roamed the area. She used the time wisely, to mingle. Maker knew she didn't get to do much of that while inside the Gallows walls.

Little more than a year into her stay, news came from Ferelden that Solona had defeated the Blight practically single-handedly. There were questions about how she had killed the Archdemon and survived where no other Grey Warden had. Philippa didn't care about the 'how'. She was just glad to hear that her friend was alive and well, and apparently consort to the new king.

Philippa was shelving what felt like her billionth book one Tuesday morning. She climbed down from the rolling ladder and started for the table where a fresh stack sat, waiting to be put away. "Phil!" a voice hissed from the other side of the bookshelves.

"Oh look. I've finally gone mad. The books are talking to me," she said with a smirk before Karl stepped from behind the shelf to glare at her.

"This isn't funny," he scolded. "I wasn't sure what to do, and you were the first person I thought of."

Her smirk disappeared to be replaced by a risen brow. "What is this about, because you're acting rather shady."

"I've received a letter," he said softly, glancing around with wide eyes as if he were afraid of being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "There is no signature, but I'd know this penmanship anywhere." He was right to be wary of a letter. Ser Samson had been banned from the Templar Order just last week for being caught passing those love notes back and forth. The two mages involved were even less lucky. The man, Maddox, was made tranquil, and his lover forced to bear the guilt.

Karl handed her a small slip of parchment and she gasped when she saw the chaotic script. "Anders?" she said in wonder. She refused to read the contents of the letter. It was none of her business. She handed it back. "What is it about? Better yet, how did you get this without it being passed through inspection?" She had her way of communicating, but as far as she knew, it was the only way.

"He says that after he escaped, he got caught up in Denerim for a time and ended up saving Solona's life during the battle where she killed the Archdemon. When the war was over, he managed to make it to Amaranthine before the templars finally caught up with him. By random chance, they stopped at Vigil's Keep on their way back to the Circle. The Keep was assaulted by lingering Darkspawn and Solona turned up to return it to the Warden's control. Anders was threatened with execution for 'murdering' his templar escorts. He denies the act, saying it was Darkspawn. At any rate, Solona recruited him into the Wardens to save his life," Karl explained, summing up the much longer letter.

"So, Anders is a Grey Warden, now? I suppose that should make him happy. He won't have to return to the Circle," she mused. "You still haven't answered my question, though. How were you able to get this letter? No way it passed Meredith's scrutiny."

Karl flushed. "It was given to me by a fellow mage. I cannot give you their name where anyone can hear us..."

"I understand. Say no more..." Then she paused and frowned. "Wait, you said you didn't know what to do. Why did you bring this to me, Karl?"

Karl sighed, glancing around again. "Could we perhaps meet tonight, after dark? I don't feel right talking about this here."

Philippa studied Karl's nervous hands as they refolded the letter. She crossed her arms. "Did you have any place in particular planned?"

"There is... a place. If I tell you about it, you cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone else..." Karl said, still fidgeting.

Philippa sighed, rolling her eyes. "Who would I tell? It's not like anyone here talks to me."

That night, after Mharen was snoring softly in her bed, Philippa sat up from her own bed, moving slowly to silence the creaking of the frame beneath her mattress. She picked up her boots and crept across the room to the door. Her heart was pounding. She had never left her bedroom at night in the Gallows. She had no idea how vigilant the templars might be after dark. It had never seemed worth the risk. Once she had slipped from her room and silently closed the door behind her, she slipped her boots on her feet and followed Karl's directions. Outside the hall lined with the women's dormitories, she crept slowly through the dimly lit corridors. Small streaks of moonlight shone through the windows high up near the ceilings, barely lighting her way. Every rustle of her robes and tap of her soles on the stone floors made her cringe and pause. She listened intently for any other sign of humanity, which she did around the hammering of her own heart, so loud she thought the sound might alert every templar in the Gallows.

She stopped dead as she reached the doorway into the entry hall that separated her from the dining hall and the kitchens. She pressed herself against the wall as voices spoke casually just on the other side of the open door. Two templars, judging by the soft clanking sounds of their armor whenever they moved. She listened silently to the conversation, willing them to get on with it. Finally, they passed by the doorway along their patrol and continued through the main hall. She exhaled a breath and carefully poked her head out to be certain they were the only two in the vicinity. Then she slipped out of the hall and moved along the wall, pressed close to the old heraldries that hung still against the stone walls, smelling mildly musty, like moth balls meant to keep them from being eaten. Finally, she made it into the dining hall, keeping to the shadows. There were fewer windows there, making it just dark enough that if anyone passed through, she could freeze, close her eyes and, hopefully, not be noticed. Luckily she didn't need to test that theory, making it to the kitchens without interruption. Just beyond the kitchens, there was a hidden cellar that apparently led to a network of old tunnels that had been built by lyrium smugglers to bring in extra, illegal, powder to the templars.

She found the trap door right where Karl said it would be and lifted it as quietly as she could. Climbing down into the tunnels put her in pitch black as she pulled the door closed behind her. With a few muttered words and flicks of her fingers, a small wisp appeared at her shoulder, hovering in just the right place behind her to light her way and not blind her in the process. The tunnels smelled of earth and damp. Beyond the moldy wood, there was a mild hint of petrichor that sang of unrefined lyrium. She followed the narrow, unmarked tunnel along a partially buried wooden path, sandy bits of dirt crumbling from the walls whenever she leaned a hand on them to guide her through. Here and there, empty barrels laid overturned on their sides, and straw that had lined crates was strewn around the ground. A constant sound of dripping met her ears as she listened for anything in the darkness that spread around her small orb of light like spilled ink.

Suddenly, she heard a hiss meant to draw her attention and from another path that branched off to her left, Karl stepped out of the shadows. "This is all very cryptic," she said with an almost amused chuckle, crossing her arms and doing her best to make it seem like he hadn't startled her with his sudden appearance. She had half expected a trap.

"I didn't dare talk about what else Anders wrote in his letter while we stood in the middle of the library under templar scrutiny," Karl said.

"What exactly did he say?" Philippa asked suspiciously, stepping aside from where she had stopped to prevent the drip from the ceiling falling on her again.

"Anders... is in Kirkwall. Has been for a few months. That is how I found out about these tunnels. There is apparently an organization in the city that uses these tunnels to help mages escape the Circle. Anders has been working with the Underground, trying to find a way to get me out of the Gallows..." Karl confessed.

"So the mage who brought you the letter?" Philippa guessed.

Karl nodded. "Part of the Underground."

"How in the Maker's name are mages able to get out of the Gallows without anyone tracking them down?" Philippa wondered curiously. As far as she knew, the phylacteries of both apprentices and harrowed mages were kept in the Gallows. Cullen had carried her own phylactery secured on a cord around his neck as they traveled.

"I have no idea," Karl shook his head.

Philippa rolled her eyes. "So let me guess. Anders is free now, and has decided it is in your best interest to be free as well."

Karl grunted. "You know him too well it seems. Normally, I would not even consider escaping, but since coming to Kirkwall... well, you know how much different it is here..."

"Is this why you came to me? Am I supposed to talk you out of leaving?" she asked in response.

"I had hoped for advice. You knew Anders in his rebellious days. You might know what he would do if I do not accept his offer," Karl said with a mild shrug.

Philippa chuckled out loud. "You say that as if he grew out of his rebellious days."

Karl puffed out his chest. "When we were together, Anders never attempted escape..."

She snorted. "And the second you were gone, he fell right back into his old cycle. Karl, what do you think is going to happen if you do escape? The Circle couldn't hold Anders... apparently the Grey Wardens couldn't either. When he grows bored of you like he does most things, what will happen to you?"

Karl looked away briefly, his lips pursed. "I refuse to believe that."

She shrugged, her arms still crossed, and settled into her hips. "Fine. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I'm biased. Perhaps he never felt for me like he does you... My point is, tread carefully. This is most definitely _not_ Kinloch Hold, and I doubt Meredith will be as lenient as Greagoir was if you're caught. That is my warning. Do with it as you see fit."

She left Karl in the tunnels to make up his mind. When she got back to the hatch, she carefully climbed the steep stairs up to lift it barely an inch and peer out. She couldn't see anyone, so she withdrew the light from her wisp and opened the hatch all of the way. After re-closing the hatch, she left it clear for Karl's return and scurried quickly towards the exit from the kitchens, grabbing an apple from a basket as she passed.

She made it almost all of the way back to her room before she stopped dead in her tracks when a familiar voice combined with the soft clanking of plate armor broke the silence of the sleeping Circle. "Enchanter Hawke!" She cringed, suddenly thankful she had grabbed the apple as she turned around to face his accusing amber stare. "What are you doing out of bed?"

She grinned lightly, pretending nothing was amiss. "Couldn't I ask the same of you Knight-Captain? Isn't it past the templars' bedtimes?"

He grabbed hold of her arm, squeezing tightly. "I will have a straight answer," he growled.

She felt her face twist in anger as she snatched her arm from his grip. "Easy..." She held up the apple. "No need for manhandling over a midnight snack."

"You know you're not allowed to be wandering the corridors unsupervised," he insisted, his glare darkening.

"I'm clearly not unsupervised. You're here," she said snarkily. "Besides. I'm almost back to my room. Whatever nasty little things you might think I was up to, I've clearly finished..."

"For Andraste's sake," he said in exasperation. "If I didn't know you better, that mouth of yours might get you into serious trouble. You might learn to shut it."

She snorted in disbelief. "What exactly do you think I've been doing for the last year and a half?" Then she sighed. "You're not unreasonable, Cullen. You know I'm not 'up to' anything. Am I free to go, or are you going to smite me again?"

He glared at her in silence for nearly an entire minute. "Don't let me catch you out of bed at night again."

She saluted him snarkily with the hand she still clutched the apple in, backing toward her room. "I wouldn't dream of it..."

She slipped into her room and closed the door behind her to lean her back heavily against it. She let out a deep sigh, swallowing her heart and trying to get it to stop thumping so frantically. She couldn't imagine if that had been any other templar. She took a moment to wonder if Cullen would report her before shuffling heavily to her bed and falling into it, her hands shaking.

_Weaver,_

_You'll never guess what has happened. I was minding my own business one day last week, when Solona turned up at the Circle with and elven companion and... a dog. She and the woman, Ariane, were quite interested in a tome that had been stolen from Ariane's clan by some apostate that Solona seems to know. I overheard them discussing the nature of the book, and heard the word Eluvian. As you know, Eluvians are ancient, no one really knows much about them and even Tevinter couldn't get them to work properly. Naturally, I recommended they consult our old friend Eleni in the repository._

_To make a long story short, Solona has dragged me from the Circle on some quest to locate one Eluvian in particular. If you can get past the smell of wet dog and the questionable washing habits of the people I'm traveling with, this adventuring thing isn't so bad. Solona says we're going to the Deep Roads. I don't know whether to be terrified or excited. Wish me luck. I don't know where I'll be for quite some time, so please don't worry if you don't hear from me. I promise when this mess is sorted, I'll write as soon as I can._

_From the outside world, Natty_

Philippa tried her best not to worry about Finn. He certainly had the knowledge at his disposal to protect himself. She just worried about his ability to not faint at the sight of blood. She did her best to push the thoughts from her mind as she sat up after dark, her candle lit on her desk as she read over the letter for the third time. How in the Maker's name had Solona convinced Finn to leave Kinloch? If the letter hadn't been in Finn's distinctive hand, she never would have believed it. He almost sounded excited. Apparently he was doing better than she was.

She heard the distant gong of the Chantry's bells as they tolled the 21st hour. Suddenly, she frowned, realizing the late hour and the fact that Mharen had not returned to their room. There was no way that Mharen would miss lights out. She stuck to her routine like a barnacle on a ship. Philippa hoped the older woman was all right. She tucked the letter from Finn in her drawer with the others and slipped between her sheets. Lying on her back, she traced her fingers over the crystals on her bracelet. After a few minutes deliberation, she decided to go on a walkabout through the Fade, and see if she could find Mharen. She had slept beside the woman for nearly two years. If she was sleeping, Philippa could easily find her.

She spent half the night searching the Gallows inside the Fade, hunting for any trace of Mharen. With no luck, she rose the next morning, dressed and instead of heading to the library where she was meant to be, she marched straight for Cullen's office. Without knocking, she barged her way in, heedless of the trouble she could get in for being off schedule. Her sudden appearance startled Cullen from what he was doing, and she saw his eyes dart toward his sword in it's sheathe before he frowned. "Enchanter Hawke what...?"

"Has anyone else noticed that Mharen is missing?" she demanded without preamble. She crossed her arms.

"Mharen?" he asked, thrown off guard by her abrupt entrance and raised voice.

"Yes, Mharen... My roomate... Older woman, bit hard of hearing, likes plants..." Philippa said slowly, her eyes narrowed. "She is not in the Gallows."

Cullen's eyes narrowed then. "Has she escaped? When did this happen?"

Philippa snorted in disbelief. "Mharen doesn't have it in her to escape. Something must have happened to her. I haven't seen her since yesterday morning."

"Mages don't just 'go missing' without notice," Cullen said skeptically. "How can you be certain she's gone?"

"Because I spent half the night looking for her with no luck..." Philippa confessed. With his shocked expression, followed by him scowling and opening his mouth, she grunted in realization of how that sounded. "No, Cullen, I was not out of bed after curfew. I meant in the Fade. Oh, don't look so put off. We have a problem."

Cullen sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples before he looked up at her. "I will have someone pull her phylactery and see if she can be found. Thank you for drawing my attention to her absence. In the meantime, I believe you have tasks to report to."

Philippa scowled, uncrossing her arms to flap an irritated dismissive hand at Cullen as she stormed from his office. That same day after lunch she was out in the courtyard, trolling lazily for weeds when a strange sight caught her eye. A young boy, no older than perhaps 17, timidly stepped into the courtyard and approached the closest templar he could find. A brief exchange happened between the two before the templar's eyes widened and he ushered the boy inside. Philippa wished she could have heard what had been said, but she had been halfway across the courtyard.

Shortly behind the boy, a group followed. The obvious leader, wearing light hide pants, and a tunic topped with a dark green protective leather vest strolled importantly across the Gallows, heading straight for Ser Thrask, a large, brown mabari at his heel. Behind him, a dwarf in a brown coat, with no beard and carrying a crossbow, walked just as casually, his dirty blonde hair, pulled back in a barely there tail drew attention to his brown eyes that seemed to be absorbing everything around him. Lastly behind the dwarf, two more humans, both with raven hair, just like the leader. Both were young, likely no older than 19. One a boy with his hair cut close to his head and neatly styled. He wore a similar pair of pants to the leader, and a yellow quilted vest that showed off thick muscling on his upper arms. Judging by the heavy two handed sword he carried on his back, he needed every bit of that muscle to wield it. The girl kept her wavy hair down over her shoulders and hiding her face, but Philippa balked as she realized that she was carrying a staff, right out in the open in the middle of the Gallows courtyard. The rest of her attire was simple. Thin grey leggings, boots up to her knees, a light chain hauberk corseted around her waist and hanging to her knees and a simple white top with grey sleeves that was off her shoulders, showing off her considerable bosom. A red scarf was tied around her neck.

When she pulled her eyes from the mage, they landed again on the leader and there was something familiar about him. She found herself approaching cautiously, attempting to look casual as she tried to get a better look at his face. When she finally got a glimpse, her legs nearly went out from under her. There was no mistaking it. His haphazard hairstyle and brown eyes, even framed by the scruffy beard he now wore on his chin, could not belong to any other. She felt like she was looking in a mirror. Her feet dragged her before him after he turned from Ser Thrask and made his way back toward the ferry docks. He was engaged in a light conversation with the dwarf that was with him and didn't see her at first. "Garrett!" she gasped, not a hint of question in her voice. She knew it was him.

He stopped short of barreling into her, but when he heard his name and his eyes flicked over her, his jaw dropped. "Andraste's ass... Phil?" His voice was gruff and deep, but it fell on her ears like music.

She nodded, unable to bring words to her suddenly dry throat. She had never thought to see her twin again. Before she could speak, he had tugged her off her feet, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug so tight she almost couldn't breathe. She buried her face against him like she had done when they were children and he had comforted her after a nightmare. "Maker's breath, Hawke, I've told you before. You can't just go around hugging random women."

Garrett pulled out of the hug, his eyes studying her protectively. "Oh, Varric, this is no random woman!" he said with a guffaw. "I'd like you to meet Philippa Hawke. My twin sister." Garrett ignored the sounds of shock from the entire group and squeezed both her shoulders. "How are you, Phil? What are you doing in Kirkwall?"

"That... is an exceedingly long and boring story," she said wistfully. "I could ask you the same thing though?"

He shook his head. "I know Father wrote to you every year on our birthday. Did... Did Mother write to you after... Did she tell you?"

Philippa nodded, doing her best to look saddened over their father's death. She could barely remember the man, but Garrett had grown up with him. "She did. I'm so sorry, Garrett."

He grunted, his grip on her shoulders tightening momentarily. "He never stopped blaming himself after the templars took you... If I'm being honest, neither did I. I was right there, Phil, and I couldn't do a damned thing."

She reached up a hand and cupped her brother's rough cheek. "We were children, Garrett. I never blamed you."

He cleared his throat brusquely, then his expression brightened. "Maker's balls, where are my manners? Phil, you have siblings you've never met." He stepped aside and the two younger humans with him were standing side by side, gaping. She noticed that her younger brother had inherited her mother's eyes, just as she had, whereas her sister had Garret's brown eyes. "Carver, Bethany, this is Phil. Your sister."

Bethany's eyes filled with tears that she attempted to brush away as Carver's expression turned sour. "Wonderful," he said shortly. "Another sibling to live up to."

Bethany reached out and softly backhanded her twin's bicep as the dwarf spoke up, breaking out of his silence. "Oh, come on, Junior. Don't be so grumpy. Imagine the look on Aveline's face when she realizes there's another Hawke in town."

Philippa took hold of Garrett's arm to draw his attention. "Not that it isn't wonderful to see you and to meet my siblings, but I need to point out that it really isn't safe for Bethany to be here."

"Good, maybe you'll listen to her," Carver said, his stony glare falling on Garrett. "Maker knows I was talking to a stone wall."

Garrett scoffed and returned his attention to Philippa. Before he could say anything more, Cullen caught sight of them and started toward the group. "Trust me, Garrett. We shouldn't be seen talking. I could get in a lot of trouble. I'm sorry." She released her grip on his arm and shooed him.

"I'll find a way to contact you," he said in a low mumble as he herded his group toward the docks.

"Who was that?" Cullen asked suspiciously as Garrett and the others disappeared around the corner.

She turned her gaze on him. "Is there any word on Mharen?" she asked, deliberately not answering his question.

Cullen sighed heavily. "I have Ser Emeric on the streets tracking her phylactery. You were right. She was not in the Gallows."

"Maker's breath, did you pull something saying that? _I_ was right?" she teased.

He harrumphed, resting his hands carefully on the hilt of his sword. "Don't get used to it."

"Oh no. Once was enough. Wouldn't want your head to explode or anything. With my luck, Meredith would probably shout blood magic and make me clean it up," she sighed jokingly.

She briefly caught the smile tug at Cullen's upper lip, just off to his right before he quickly wiped it away.

Before Cullen could question her further about Garrett and the others, another templar approached them, nearly breathless. "Knight-Captain, the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander asked me to fetch you... and Enchanter Hawke."

"What's this about Paxley?" Cullen asked in a calming tone as he glanced at Philippa, indicating she should follow.

"I don't rightly know, Knight-Captain, Ser. I was just asked to fetch you," the nervous recruit said as he led them toward the side entrance to the Gallows that led directly to the entry hall just outside the templar's wing and the offices of the leaders. At Kinloch, Greagoir and Irving's offices had been on separate floors of the tower. Here in the Gallows, Meredith had her office stationed directly across the hall from Orsino, likely so she could keep a watchful eye on the First Enchanter as if he were doing blood magic rituals in the tiny room.

They passed by both offices, as well as Cullen's office and went directly into the small garden area between them and the templar barracks. In the small courtyard, Orsino and Meredith stood with another templar, Meredith's tranquil assistant, and the young boy that Philippa had seen before Garrett had walked back into her life. He wore his long blonde hair in a braided tail from the back of his head. His chin was thin, as were the rest of his features and he had wide, curious eyes that were currently full of fear. "Ah, Phil," Orsino said, breaking off from Meredith as he noticed their approach. "I'm glad you could make it."

She shrugged, looking over the boy as she noticed for the first time, the power that was radiating off him. "It's not like I have anything better to do all day," she said bitterly, narrowing her eyes as she looked at Meredith.

Cullen cleared his throat. "Paxley said you needed us both..." he interrupted before Meredith had a chance to be insulted by Philippa's tone.

Orsino moved back to stand beside the boy. "Phil, this is Feynril. It was brought to our attention that he was born with magic. His mother reported his abilities to the Circle a few days ago, but Feynril was scared and tried to flee. He was abducted by slavers and then rescued by a helpful citizen who urged him to turn himself in for his own safety."

"What does any of this have to do with me?" Philippa wondered as Orsino looked at her like she was supposed to know something.

Orsino frowned slightly, but then grunted. "I had assumed you would be able to feel the similar magics... no matter. Phil, we believe Feynril to be a dreamer, like yourself."

Philippa was suddenly very interested in the timid young man standing hunched between Meredith and Orsino. She pushed a small amount of magic at him, and he cringed as if she had stung him. "That's all well and good, but he just got here. You can't possibly be thinking of Harrowing him. He needs training," she reasoned.

Orsino nodded. "And I agree. Meredith feels otherwise. Perhaps your added opinion is enough to sway her?" he glanced at Meredith who drew herself taller.

"Isn't one somniari in the Gallows more than enough?" she growled. "He should be put to the brand."

Philippa took a step forward, her fists balling at her sides. "You can't be serious. He is just a child. He can't help the power he was born with. At least give me some time to work with him. Let me show him how to harness his gift before you snuff him like a candle."

Philippa was shocked when Cullen stepped up beside her, clearing his throat. "As much as I don't like admitting it, Enchanter Hawke is right. He should be given a fair amount of training and then Harrowed, like any other mage." _Maker, that's twice in less than ten minutes he's admitted I'm right. Blimey, a record._

"He is not like any other mage," Meredith insisted.

"Neither am I," Philippa pointed out, pushing aside her thoughts as she looked briefly at Cullen with curiosity. "But I was able to harness my power. He needs time and training, not you threatening to sever his connection to the Fade."

Meredith looked back and forth between everyone present, her piercing blue eyes unhappy with the fact that she was outnumbered. "Fine. I am giving you no more than one year to prepare him for the Harrowing. If there is one problem, the deal is off, and I do what should have been done today."

"Fine," Philippa agreed. "But if I am going to be mentoring another mage, I'll need a proper workspace and a proper schedule. No more busy work."

"I would be careful with my demands," Meredith growled, angrily.

Orsino stepped in. "Enchanter Hawke has been more than reasonable during her stay with us, Meredith. You've had her jumping through hoops since she arrived. Give her the chance she deserves to prove herself."

Meredith grunted. "As you wish, Orsino." Then she turned to Philippa and Feynril in turn. "Probation for you both. Let it be known that I do not trust either of you."

Philippa raised her brow before reaching out to grip Feynril's arm tightly and pull him away from Meredith. "Right. Come along, Feynril. We have a lot of work to do." She glanced over her shoulder at Orsino as she hurried from the garden. "I'm sure you can make arrangements for us and get them to me while I show Feynril around."

With a small smirk of defiance aimed at Meredith, Orsino nodded. "Of course Phil. I'll have it worked out by the end of the day."

Philippa sighed as they exited the templars' wing into the entry hall. "I apologize for taking over back there, but it was the only way to get through to Meredith. Feynril, is it? I'm Phil." She stopped, dropping her grip on his arm and holding out her hand to him.

He took it tentatively and his hand was clammy as he shook hers lightly. His eyes flicked all around nervously. "Di... Did they say your surname was Hawke?"

"Yes," she agreed with a nod. "Phil Hawke. Why?"

"The man who rescued me from the slavers and convinced me to come here. His name was Hawke, too."

Philippa smiled. "You must have met my twin brother. I had no idea he was in Kirkwall until I saw him in the Gallows courtyard today. I've been in the Circle since I was seven. That was the first time I'd seen him in a very long time."

"I don't have any family besides my mother... but she's the one who turned me in. I didn't want to come here. I wanted to find her people. The Dalish..." Feynril explained sadly.

"You're half elf?" Philippa asked, realizing where he had gotten his thin features.

"Yes," he agreed. "My mother is... was... Dalish. She left her clan behind when she had me. It's always just been the two of us. Then the nightmares started..."

Philippa pressed her lips together in sympathy. "I had terrible nightmares when I was younger. Demons called to me practically every night. I've learned to control my gifts and the Fade around me. I rarely find my dreams invaded anymore."

Feynril sighed heavily. "I would very much like to not have nightmares anymore."

Philippa took his hand and squeezed, smiling. "We'll get you there. I promise. But first, let's start with a tour of the Gallows..."

By inspection day that week, Mharen still had not been found. The templars fell on her things with abandon, turning the room over looking for anything that might indicate where she had gone or how she had escaped. Finding nothing amiss but a dying white lily, they cleared the rest of her things out.

Philippa made her way out to the courtyard that afternoon when lunch was over, intending to pay a visit to Sol's shop to pick up some herbs she needed for helping Feynril curb his dreams. They had an entire year to make it through, so the concoction she had been given before her Harrowing that kept you from sleeping would not serve for Feynril. She was shocked to see her brother again as she wandered the courtyard, drawing out her stay in the sunshine. He had a sack over his shoulder, and Carver and Bethany were not with him. In their place was a voluptuous woman clad in little more than a short white hauberk and corset with boots that reached up to the middle of her thick thighs, and a surly looking elf with bone white hair and dark contrasting skin that was covered with strange white tattoos that sung with the song of lyrium and smelled potently of the stuff.

Garrett approached Ser Emeric who was posted near the bottom of the stairs to the main entry, just beside one of the bronze slave statues huddled in the fetal position that lined the wide stairs. He whipped the sack from over his shoulder and dropped it unceremoniously in Emeric's arms. "Recognize your mage?"

Emeric, who had a few scrapes and bruises that she could see on his person, looked into the sack. Whatever was in it made his eyes widen in shock. Philippa didn't need to wait long to find out. "These are human bones!" Then he let out an exhausted sigh. "Then there is no chance of finding Mharen alive... or any of the others." Philippa's heart sunk. Mharen had disappeared literally right out from under her nose and she had not even noticed until it was too late.

"If they're not dead, watch out for a bunch of boneless women flopping through the streets," Garrett said with a chuckle.

"Show some respect!" Emeric growled as the dwarf with no beard that had been with Garrett before snickered lightly. "I will bring this to the city guard immediately. It should be enough to convince them the disappearances are worth investigating."

Emeric left without another word after shoving a few coins into Garrett's hands. "Some people have no sense of humor," Garrett said in mock surprise, grinning over his shoulder at his companions and shaking the coin purse.

Then the dwarf nudged him, having spotted her lingering nearby. "Isn't that your twin, Hawke?"

Garrett's attention fell on her, and he smiled. "Phil! Come meet my friends!"

The scantily clad woman spun to rove her eyes over Philippa and she smirked. She had dusky skin and long dark hair that was held back by a blue bandanna. Both she and Garrett carried a pair of nasty looking daggers, but hers were mounted on her back rather than her hips like he had his. She wore a large amount of golden jewelry that sparkled as she swayed toward Philippa. "Oh, Hawke. You never mentioned there was a prettier version of you roaming around Kirkwall."

"Isabela, I will have you know I am plenty pretty," Garrett said, strutting up after the woman and knuckling her shoulder. "Just ask Fenris. He thinks I'm adorable." Garrett then winked at the strange elf who grunted in return.

"My gauntlets are very sharp, Hawke," the elf rasped in a deep baritone as he fidgeted on his feet, adjusting his belt and brushing invisible dirt from his shoulders. His gauntlets were indeed sharp, along with everything else he wore, but his Jade green eyes looked at her brother with something akin to admiration.

Garrett's strong arms wrapped around her again in a tight hug before he pulled back to introduce his friends properly. "We didn't really have a chance to talk the last time, what with Beth being here and your templar friend sniffing around."

Philippa snorted. "Friend is _not_ the word for it."

Garrett bit his lip in an oddly familiar gesture. "I haven't told Mother we saw you. When we fled the Blight in Lothering, we nearly lost Carver to an ogre. She hasn't been the same since. I don't think it's wise that she knows you're here."

Philippa nodded. "She's already mourned me, Garrett. No reason to stir up long dead emotions."

He frowned lightly. "You talk like you're dead..."

I might as well be. I'm never getting out of this place," Philippa reasoned. "I've known mages who tried to escape and all it got them was misery."

"A surprisingly refreshing outlook," the tattooed elf said gruffly.

Garrett turned a raised brow on the elf who simply returned the expression. Before either of them could say another word, the dwarf stepped in. "Hawke, didn't you have other business here?"

"The herbalist, right!" Garrett said, gripping Philippa in another tight hug before looking her over one last time. "Stay well, sister. I'll be in touch. You still owe me a story about why you're in Kirkwall."

As Garrett left her, Philippa checked her pouch of herbs to be certain she had everything she needed and then headed back toward the Gallows to mix everything up so she could start testing different mixtures on Feynril. She was weighing odds in her head as to how the different herbs would affect Feynril and not paying much attention to where she was going. She collided quite effectively with another person that had been going the other direction. "Shit, sorry," she said immediately glancing up to see who she had run into.

"Pardon me. I was not looking where I was going," the familiar face answered in a monotone.

Philippa felt her jaw drop and her heart clench as she realized who she was speaking to. Her stomach flipped first in fear and then in rage. Karl stared back at her, no real regret in his tone as he observed proper etiquette for bumping into another human being. Just above his empty eyes, the fresh brand in the shape of the Andrastian sunburst stood out starkly against his pale skin. "Holy Maker, Karl. What have they done?" she gasped.

"Do not concern yourself. I am better this way," Karl droned.

Philippa felt white hot rage fill her gut and she pushed past the shell of Karl, not bothering to spare her sympathy. He was in no position to accept it. She had watched another of her friends make the choice to lose herself to tranquility, but Karl would never have done that. Which only meant that it had been done _to_ him. Someone had a lot of explaining to do.

Knowing her protests would fall on deaf ears if she went to Meredith, she stormed past the Knight-Commander's office and straight for Cullen's. He had been reasonable once. She was banking on whatever was left of his old self seeing what a horrible injustice had been wrought. Luckily, he was sat behind his desk, in the midst of a pile of paperwork. She swept into the room and slammed her palm down on top of the paper directly in front of him. "Karl Thekla!" she shouted angrily.

Cullen looked up at her with a frown, his eyes doing their familiar dance toward his sword at her emotionally driven interruption. "Who?" he said through gritted teeth.

She let out a loud, one note guffaw. "You know, I don't know if you're actually this blind, or if it is willful. Karl Thekla. Former mage of the Circle of Ferelden, most recently of Kirkwall, and now a tranquil. How is Meredith getting away with putting the brand to Harrowed mages? That's against Chantry law!"

Cullen looked briefly confused as he gathered himself and then he pressed his lips together, looking down at her hand that was still lying flat on his paperwork. "That is only technically true. If the Knight-Commander is given proper reason to believe the mage in question is a danger to themselves or others around them..."

"Karl wasn't a 'danger' to anyone!" she growled, her own emotions stirring high enough to draw a small amount of heat to the surface. "How can you sit there and justify Meredith's actions!?" As he watched her carefully, probably sensing the rise in temperature in the room, she took a breath and lifted her hand from his desk. _Not that which is most base..._ "You know this is wrong, Cullen... At least you would have. I can never tell anymore."

His own sigh slipped from his mouth as he noted that she had reigned in her outburst. "While I was not present for the Rite, I'm certain Meredith did not act without provocation. She does nothing without reason."

Philippa snorted wryly. "I doubt 'reason' is Meredith's strong suit. In fact I'm not even certain it's in her vocabulary."

Cullen glared at her again. "I would tread lightly if I were you. You'd do well to remember that Meredith has placed both you and Feynril on probation..."

"Save your threats," she growled. "You know I'm right. If you take your head out of Meredith's ass for a few minutes, you might just see it, too." With that, she turned on her heel and stormed from Cullen's office, completely forgetting the experiments she had planned.


	12. Rebellious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa begins to take her rightful place in the Gallows

After he was made tranquil, Philippa stopped seeing Karl. Normally, the tranquil and their blank stares were something she avoided like the Blight, but still she would on occasion notice them out in the courtyard behind tables, selling magical wares, or in the laboratories handling lyrium, enchanting items, and sorting herbs for the stockroom. When she noticed he had been gone for nearly a week, she approached the First Enchanter.

Orsino balked at her question when she first presented it, but then he sighed heavily, a saddened expression creeping onto his face. “I'm sorry, Phil. Karl is dead.”

“Dead!?” she cried in horror, her stomach sinking. “What in the Void happened?”

Orsino hurried around her to close his door quietly so they wouldn't be overheard. “Please. Sit down. You knew Karl? Before?”

“He was a bit older, but we were apprentices together. We had mutual friends,” she explained, taking the seat he offered her before her shocked knees gave out beneath her.

“You deserve the truth, then,” Orsino sat across his desk from her. He folded his hands and looked her over once more before he continued. “Karl was caught composing a letter to an apostate that lives in the Undercity. I have tried my best to keep attention off the man because he does good work for refugees and the less fortunate. The letter spoke of a meeting between the two that would end in Karl's escape from the Gallows. Had I been the one to discover the letter, I would have swept it under the carpet, but it was found during inspection by one of Meredith's pets. Ser Alrik. I'm sure you've heard the name...” Philippa scowled. Ser Alrik had a reputation in the Gallows. She considered herself lucky that she had never had cause to associate with him. “After he was made tranquil for his designs on escape, Alrik had Karl finish the letter and send it off to it's recipient in hopes of capturing the apostate. Every single templar who attended, as well as Karl were slain in the undertaking. Of course, Alrik abstained from the meeting, so he still lingers like the festering sore he is.”

“How could you let this happen?” Philippa asked, knowing exactly who they had been trying to capture.

“I knew nothing about it until it was too late,” Orsino insisted. “I beg you, Phil. Do not involve yourself. Meredith is itching for a reason to hand you over to Ser Alrik. There is nothing to be done about Karl.”

Philippa pressed her lips together, swallowing her protest. There were other ways to get things done than causing a fuss on Meredith's doorstep. Philippa had never in her life believed that anything Anders had done in the name of freedom was right, but now that she was seeing exactly what it was like for the mages in Kirkwall, experiencing it, something needed to be done. Rather than escape herself, she meant to help those who needed it, as discreetly as possible. It was time she reached out to her old friend.

Over the course of the next few months, Philippa discreetly went about memorizing the patrol routes of each and every templar that was given the night shift. Most of them had a pattern that was laughably easy to map out. She took quiet excursions from her room to familiarize herself with the Gallows nearly as well as she had Kinloch Hold. The process was time consuming and difficult during the day as she worked around her other duties which included closely monitored sessions with the still nervous Feynril. He was not taking to magic as easily as she had, and it seemed no matter what herbs she mixed for him, the demons would not leave him be.

That left her with the nighttime hours. It was easy at first, slipping out, taking a stroll, making a mental map, and slipping back to her room. It seemed to her that the templar recruits were getting fewer in number, making her job easier. If she couldn't even keep recruits, Meredith must have been a hard-ass to her own people as well as the mages. Once she was given a new roommate, the task became a dozen times harder. Her name was Ella. She had dark brown hair cropped at her chin and thick bangs that covered her forehead. Her skin and eyes were a chocolate brown and her smile was kind. She was a quiet girl until Philippa made the mistake of being friendly. Suddenly, they were best friends and Philippa was subjected to late hours filled with talk of Ella's family and philosophical questions. She remembered enjoying nights like those with Anders and then later with Finn, but now it was standing in her way of finding out the secrets of the mage underground. When Ella would finally go to sleep, Philippa would lie awake, waiting to be certain she was fully asleep before getting quietly out of bed and creeping through the halls.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of sleepless nights, Philippa felt confident enough to make contact with Anders. Orsino had let it slip that he was living in the Undercity, so it was a simple matter to slip a note to a raven and send it off. After the incident with Karl, Anders was understandably leery of her request, and ignored her first few letters.

Four months after her initial request, she was out in the courtyard on a typical Tuesday, browsing the shops and making her allotted time stretch as best she could. As she stopped to talk with Sol, she noticed that the templar recruits were looking shadier than usual. One of the boys, with a pale complexion and black hair was speaking to one of the girls who had light blue eyes and blonde hair. In spite of not being able to hear what they were saying, something about the two of them stirred a familiar feeling in Philippa. Her throat clenched as the headache began to throb behind her eyes. Something was very wrong. She apologized to Sol for cutting their conversation short and scanned the courtyard, keeping one eye fixed on the couple. The boy rubbed his forehead and the girl touched his arm with a concerned look on her face. He pulled away abruptly and with a stuttered excuse, he walked away from her. Philippa's headache followed the boy. Finding her target, Philippa approached Cullen, taking her lip between her teeth and drawing his attention. “Cullen, you have a serious problem.”

“What is it this time, Hawke?” he growled irritably.

His irritation bubbled alongside the throbbing in her skull and set off her own annoyance. “Could you at least pretend that anything I have to say is important?... Don't roll your eyes at me! One of your recruits has a demon inside him...” she hissed angrily.

“Beg pardon?” Cullen barked. “That's insane.”

Philippa crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “Fine, don't believe me. But don't say I didn't warn you...” She threw her hands up and waved them mockingly. “Try to do a templar a favor...” Then she rolled her eyes just like he had and stormed off.

All afternoon, she worried about the problem brewing in the templar ranks. How had a templar gotten possessed? It should have been highly improbable, if not impossible. She was pouring over a tome, only retaining about half the information when someone quietly cleared their throat behind her. She turned to see who it had been, and Cullen was standing sheepishly near the back of her chair, his hand rubbing nervously over the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but directly at her. She cocked a brow in question as he shuffled his feet. “Whatever it was, I didn't do it,” she said with a smirk. Then she frowned jokingly. “I don't think...”

Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes before they fell on her. “Listen, I came to... apologize. You were right... again.”

“Oh!” she said brightly, smiling mockingly. “That has to be a record! I mean... I'm usually right, but you admitting it... that's a record.”

“Maker's breath...” Cullen mumbled, his expression souring. “I just thought you should know that I followed Wilmod from the Gallows after you mentioned we might have a problem. Another recruit drew my attention to some odd behavior on his behalf. He had also been missing for sometime, so...”

“Wait! You've had recruits go missing and turn back up, but you didn't think to question them?” she interrupted with a frown. So it had not just been her imagination in noticing the disappearances.

“We did, but his explanations seemed genuine. The matter was put to rest,” Cullen explained. “At any rate, I followed after him to the coast where I confronted him. My questioning was interrupted by someone you might find of note. A young man with black hair that introduced himself as Hawke...”

“Ah...” Philippa nodded, her cheeks flushing. “That would be my twin brother. Didn't I mention he was in Kirkwall?”

“You know very well that you didn't. Not to me at any rate, even though you find it prudent to bring everything else to my attention over the Knight-Commander's head...” he hinted.

Philippa shrugged and bit her lip. “Chain of command?”

“Of course...” he said with a halfhearted scowl. “Anyway. After your brother's intervention, Wilmod revealed himself to be possessed. Hawke helped me take him down, along with a slew of other shades and demons that he summoned.”

“Garrett seems to like praise. I hope you thanked him,” she hinted with a grin.

“Hmm... That must run in the family. If you must know, I not only thanked him, but enlisted his help in locating another of our missing recruits in hopes of getting to him before he succumbs to a similar fate,” Cullen revealed.

“If he manages to bring back the recruit, I would be happy to have a look and let you know if he has a passenger,” she offered.

“I'll keep that in mind, thank you,” Cullen agreed.

“Ooh, praise...” she teased with a chuckle.

A few days later, Philippa received a note from a tranquil in the middle of one of her lessons with Feynril. It had no signature, and she failed to recognize the hand. Five words adorned the small slip of paper. _You're needed in the Courtyard._ She frowned at the note and looked up at the tranquil that had delivered it. “Who asked for me?”

“Knight-Captain Cullen,” the hazy eyed girl reported.

“Thank you,” Philippa said, and the tranquil bowed, leaving her and Feynril. Philippa sighed, looking over the note again. “I've half a mind to ignore this.”

“Is that wise?” Feynril asked. “It's fine really. I could just... read until you get back?”

She smiled at her lone apprentice and nodded. “I shouldn't be long.”

With Cullen's note clutched in her hand in case she was stopped by another templar, she headed toward the courtyard. When she stepped out into the chill of the autumn day, she glanced around, savoring the sun on her face as she crossed to where Cullen stood. There were two younger people with him, one a girl in a patched dress, and the other a templar recruit if his armor could be believed. They both had light blonde hair and bright blue eyes that made Philippa believe they must be siblings. They embraced warmy as she approached. At nearly the same time, another group of people stepped up as well. Before Philippa could even make a comment about being summoned by the Knight-Captain himself, she glanced over at the other group, stopping short as she recognized both of her brothers, Garrett's dwarven friend, and the biggest shock of all, Anders.

When their eyes met, both of them seemed to succumb to a numbing shock. All she could do was stare, her jaw dropping ridiculously as his did the same. He had changed since she had seen him last. His face had thinned as well as his person, as if he was neglecting meals on a regular basis. His right earlobe sported a small golden ring, and the brown and green coat he wore was topped with feathered pauldrons. Hide pants and tall boots completed the ensemble. Not only had he changed on the outside, but as she stood there gaping, she felt another presence recognizing her from beneath his skin. She heaved a ragged sigh, looking away from him as she realized he had gone and gotten himself possessed. As she poked at the spirit lightly, she noted that she had no numbing throbbing headache like with demons. It was simply a spirit. Maker knew what it had embodied before Anders had gotten a hold of it, but it was teetering on the edge of something darker. His anger had nearly corrupted it. Garrett spoke before she had a chance to say a word. "I've got some good news and some bad news," he said, addressing Cullen who turned from Philippa to look at her brother, his expression falling to dread.

"What? What is it?" he asked desperately.

"Good news, Keran is safe. Bad news, half of your recruits may have been possessed by demons," he informed him bluntly.

"Sweet blood of Andraste!" Cullen gasped, his cheeks paling, as the recruit and his sister both turned to look at Garrett, while Cullen's eyes snapped to her. She had not even been concerned over the two blonde siblings until then.

"D-demons? Did you say something about the recruits and demons?" the girl gasped, taking a step away from her brother.

"I didn't want to tell you, Macha. They... they were horrible. Those mages see the rest of us as ants to be crushed," the boy said in fear. "They won't stop until they've destroyed the Chantry and the templars forever."

"Not all mages are like that," Philippa said pointedly, finding her voice as she fixed her eyes on Cullen.

"Sister, not now," Carver begged, shocking her as he admitted their familial bond.

"True, not every mage gives in to temptation," Cullen agreed. "But none are ever free of it. At any time, any mage could become a monster, from the lowest apprentice to the most seasoned enchanters. Mages cannot be treated like people." he looked back at Garrett. "They are not like you and me."

Philippa glared angrily at Cullen as Garrett pursed his lips, watching the exchange with interest. Macha stepped back beside her brother. "Surely that's a little harsh."

"They are weapons," Cullen sighed sadly. "They have the power to light a city on fire in a fit of pique."

Garrett stepped closer to Cullen, raising a finger and setting a dazzling grin on him. "I admit, that does reduce their bargaining position, but there must be some middle ground," he suggested.

Cullen looked him over. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps mages need better education as to why the Chantry functions as it does. Perhaps they would not go against the will of Andraste herself. I will look into it," he said. Philippa didn't think that was exactly what Garrett had been saying, but it was a breakthrough to have gone from 'mages aren't people' to 'perhaps you're right', in just a few sentences. Why had she never been able to get through to him that easily? Perhaps because she embodied everything that he feared. "For now, Keran, unless it is proven you are free of demons, I must strip you of your commission immediately."

"No! You can't really think that. Keran's fine. He's safe," Macha begged, hugging her brother's arm.

"Please, ser. I tried to resist. I never took anything they offered. I... I need this position or my sister can't eat. I've been training for five years!" Keran pleaded.

Cullen looked to Philippa for direction. As she nodded, feeling no demon or spirit attached to the young recruit, Garrett also spoke up. "We conducted tests on Keran. He's not possessed. He can stay in the Order."

"I hesitate to ask what methods you used that you are so certain," Cullen said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Still, you have done much for us by stopping these blood mages. I will heed your request. If he has shown no sign of demonic possession in ten years' time, Keran will become eligible for full knighthood."

"Thank you, serah," Macha said gratefully, reaching out to take Garrett's hand in her own. "Again. But without a full knighthood, Keran's pay is so small... I do not know if I can reward you as you deserve..."

"I will handle that, miss," Cullen said with a small chuckle, offering Garrett a coin purse. "You have done the Order a great service. We will not forget it."

As Keran and his sister left arm in arm, Cullen glanced between Philippa and Garrett. She didn't think he had even recognized Anders' presence. He had remained uncharacteristically quiet as the talk of mages was tossed around. Certainly getting possessed had not altered him so drastically that he didn't react when a templar called mages less than human. Philippa's gaze remained unerringly on Cullen, not wishing to draw attention to Anders by staring at him again. “Knight-Captain, might I steal a word with my sister in private?” Garrett suddenly asked.

Cullen's eyes narrowed, but when they fell on her, he sighed and waved a hand. “Only a few moments. I believe she has an apprentice waiting.”

“I won't be long,” she assured him.

With one final glance between them, Cullen moved away, following after Keran and his sister. “Phil, I...” Garrett began with a smile, but she stepped around him and bore down on Anders.

“You stupid idiot! What have you done?” she growled.

Anders' tall frame crumpled as she scolded him, folding in on himself like he had when Karl had scolded him after he had escaped for the third time. “So I'm guessing you two know each other...” Garrett said, stepping between them, still grinning sardonically.

“Intimately,” she continued angrily, her eyes never leaving Anders. “I knew you were prone to crazy impulses, Anders, but this one takes the cake.”

“It's not like that,” he said softly. His voice hadn't changed, at least. “This was not some impulse.”

She snorted as she rolled her eyes. "Is the fact that your possession was planned supposed to make me feel better?”

“Why don't you shout?” he growled in return, straightening to her challenging stance. “We're only in the middle of the bloody Gallows. Maybe you should call your templar friend back over so they can capture me and brand me like they did Karl!”

Philippa pressed her lips together. “Everything that happened to Karl can be laid at your feet...” she snapped.

A flash of blue shifted across Anders' usually honey colored eyes. She swore she briefly saw his skin crack as a similar blue light shone through from within. The touch of his spirit passenger intensified for a split second before he inhaled a deep breath. Garrett placed his body between them, his hand restrainingly on Anders' chest. “Hey now, let's not make a scene.” He said brightly.

Anders' eyes flicked from Philippa to Garrett and he smiled softly. “I'm sorry, Hawke. You're right.” Then he looked away from her brother to settle his eyes on her again. “I knew you were in Kirkwall. I ignored your letters because I could not be certain they weren't a trap. Now it seems that we need to have a much longer conversation than can be had in the time here.”

“If nothing else, I deserve an explanation,” she said, her chest constricting.

He nodded in agreement, “You do... I'll be in touch.”

There was one thing about the Gallows that differed from Kinloch. The mages' rooms most definitely did not have locks. Philippa was reminded quite bluntly about that fact the evening after seeing Anders. His idea of 'being in touch' happened to involve him using the underground tunnels to sneak into the Circle and into her room to press his hand over her mouth as a wake up. When she bolted awake, his hand holding her in place, she looked around frantically and drew on her mana to knock her attacker off her. He grabbed her hand that was nearly swirling with magic already and used his own mana to drain her reserves. “Blimey,” he cursed softly.

Hearing his voice allowed her to identify him in the darkness and she huffed angrily into his hand, cutting her eyes at him, noticing his golden earring catching a small light that was coming in from the door he'd left slightly ajar. She lifted her opposite arm and pried his hand from her lips. “What in the Void are you doing?” she hissed, glancing over to where Ella was blessedly still sleeping.

In lieu of a response, he tipped his head toward the door and stood, releasing his hold on her completely after pouring her mana back into her core. She threw off her blankets and stuffed her feet in her boots, and still in her sleeping clothes, she followed him to the hallway. She pulled the door closed behind her and he took her hand, leading them toward the kitchens and the tunnels. She struggled to remember what night it was and suddenly she froze, tugging him to a stop as well. She had not gone on a walkabout that night, because it was Ser Alrik's night for patrolling the Circle. She had no idea what time it was, nor where he might be lurking at that particular moment. Her heart beginning to race, she remained still as he tried to tug her along. At her steadfast resistance, he set a questioning look on her. It was strange how easily they fell into their old ability to read each other. His own eyes widened. “Ser Alrik?” There was that flash of blue beneath the surface again, briefly lighting the shadowy hallway. When she nodded, his expression darkened, but he tugged her hand again. “He's on the other side of the Gallows. I'm not stupid, Phil.”

“Could have fooled me,” she sighed, rolling her eyes and allowing him to pull her after.

As she predicted, they ended up in the musty, lyrium scented tunnels. Before she had a chance to give him an earful, he turned on her, his eyes pleading. “Phil, I'm sorry for barging in on you unannounced, but I couldn't risk writing anything that could be intercepted. If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself... and it would have put the underground at risk to talk about these tunnels in a note.”

She scoffed in annoyance, flicking her hand to create a wisp for light. “My how times have changed. The great escapist breaking _into_ the Circle.” She crossed her arms.

“You don't seem surprised about these tunnels,” he said suspiciously, his eyes narrowing as he ignored her jab.

She snorted. “Anders, I've been here nearly two years. Did you really think I hadn't discovered all of the secrets of the Gallows?” She didn't want to reveal that Karl had shown them to her long before she'd begun discovering half the secrets in this place.

He smiled weakly. “No, I suppose not... It's good to see you, Phil.”

“I would say the same, but... who's your friend, Anders?” she asked, reaching out to settle her hand on the curve of his neck and reach toward him with her magic to taste his spirit.

He grabbed at her wrist and pulled her away before she could get a look at his extra passenger, that flash of blue decorating his eyes again. She frowned. “That's the whole point,” he said after a moment. “How much do you know about what happened to me after I escaped Kinloch for the last time?”

She shrugged, pulling her arm from his grip. “No more than you hear from rumors. I'd rather hear the truth.”

Anders sighed heavily. “I'm sure the truth is much less fanciful than you might have heard.”

She crossed her arms again and moved toward the wall to settle herself on an abandoned barrel. Crossing her legs, she said, “I have time.”

With a heavy sigh, he sagged against the opposite wall, a dusting of sandy stone falling down behind him, dislodged by his weight. “I could hardly believe my luck after I managed to get free of the tower. It was almost too simple. The templars didn't even see me while they scurried around trying to get a handle on what was happening. I was across the lake in less than five minutes...”

“You know, let me stop you there. I've always wondered how you crossed the lake all those times. I only saw you swim it once...”

A hint of the old Anders shone through as he smirked at her. “You've never asked me how I escaped before...”

She shrugged. “Professional curiosity...”

He nodded. “Ice bridge... I froze the lake beneath my feet.”

“Fade step to freedom,” she chuckled softly.

“In a sense,” he nodded again. After a moment's pause, he continued. “When I had escaped the time before, I had stupidly headed straight for the northern shore, looking for passage to Kirkwall. With the distraction in the tower, I figured it was my chance to head to Denerim and see if I couldn't figure out how to get my phylactery and destroy it, like Jowan had done. Without that, they couldn't track me, as you know. What I didn't anticipate was the news that because of the Blight, all of the mages' phylacteries had been split up and sent across the country to different cities in the bannorn. I got stuck in Denerim trying to track down where mine had been shipped off to, and then the Darkspawn attacked. I was in the city during the final battle with the Archdemon. I helped as best I could, fighting back the horde. I even saved Amell's life quite by chance. She was attacked by an emissary in the market. It knocked her back, cracked her skull. It was lucky I was there, really. I saved her so she could save Ferelden.

“At any rate, after the battle, I managed to get out of the city and discovered my phylactery might be in Amaranthine. The roads in and out of Amaranthine were dodgy, and I was forced to take the long way around. With the Blight over, I suppose the templars had a chance to get off their asses and track me down. They caught me right outside the city.” He chuckled wryly. “Worst job they ever took on, I should think... Long story short, we stopped for the night in Vigil's Keep, Amell showed up just after my entourage was killed by Darkspawn, and actually believed me when I told her the truth. When the templars tried to recapture me and execute me for 'murdering' their comrades, she stood up for me... took me under her protection. I'll always be grateful for that, in spite of... everything.” He sighed. “You're cousins, you know? Well, second cousins.”

“What?” Philippa sat straighter, her eyes widening.

“Your mother's family name, before she married your father, was Amell. Hawke and the rest of your family. They're living with your uncle, Gamlen Amell, in lowtown,” Anders explained. “Her mother and yours were cousins.”

Philippa frowned. “You seem to know an awful lot about my family. How did you and Garrett get mixed up together.”

Anders' cheeks flushed lightly and he cleared his throat. “That was actually quite by accident...” She rolled her wrist, prompting him to continue his story. “After I took the Joining and became a Warden, Amell dragged me and the other recruits through some interesting and usually sticky situations. One of those involved being trapped in the Fade by a talking Darkspawn...” At Philippa's questioning expression, he shook his head and held up his palms. “Don't ask. That, however, is where I met Justice. A very powerful pride demon had trapped an entire village in the Fade and he was there trying to help the trapped souls. When the demon ripped open the Veil to escape, we were all dragged from the Fade, Justice included. He had nowhere to go and was stuck in the decaying body of a dead Grey Warden.

“We got to know each other rather well, and he started to see what I had always seen. The injustice of the Circle. As the body he was in rotted around him, we agreed that something needed to be done. We were friends. I couldn't just let him rot. We merged... a particularly trying experience that neither of us came from without scars... I left the Wardens not long after, and came to Kirkwall to continue my quest to help Karl. We communicated for months, planning his escape. Then one day, coincidentally, the day we were planning his escape, I was approached by a man looking for information about the Deep Roads in the area. Justice and I saw the use in a helping hand for the rescue, and offered a trade. My maps that I had stolen from the Wardens in exchange for backup.”

“Let me guess... Garrett?” she asked.

“I didn't know it at the time, but yes,” Anders answered, his voice choked. “When everything went to shit in the Chantry, Justice made an appearance while we were fighting the templars. His presence pulled Karl back for a few moments. He begged for death to replace the inhuman existence of being tranquil. I...” Anders paused, looking down at his hands that he held before him. She could see his tears reflected in the light of her wisp. He drew in a breath and continued, his voice wavering slightly. “I had to help him, Phil.” He cleared his throat. “When it was all over, Hawke followed me back to my clinic. That's when he told me his name and I made the connection. I'm not sure why I didn't recognize it sooner. You look so much alike.”

She snorted. “I'm much more handsome.”

He chuckled around the somber tone hovering between them. “You share that, too, you know...”

“Sass?” she asked with a smirk.

“More like questionable wit, but yes,” he said with a smile.

“You sound almost enamored with my brother,” Philippa pointed out.

“He is very... enigmatic. But that's not me anymore, Phil.” He sighed again. “There are much more important things in life.”

She bit her lip, studying his distant look as he shuffled his feet in the dirt that lined the wooden path. “You said your spirit was Justice? Are you aware... Anders, do you know that 'he' is clinging to that virtue by a thread?”

Anders cringed. “My anger, Phil... The greatest injustice was what happened after we merged. He doesn't possess me... He _is_ me, and I turned him into a force of vengeance. We just wanted to help.”

She got down from the barrel she was sitting on and crossed the narrow path to stand in front of him. She reached up, cupping his lightly stubbled jaw in her palm, gently brushing a tear from his cheek. Then she pulled him to her and kissed his forehead with a light brush of her lips. “I'm sorry, Anders.” Then she pulled him into a hug.

He stiffened in surprise at first, but then melted into her arms, wrapping his own around her waist. After a few minutes, he pulled away and his honey eyes met hers. “Enough about me, Phil. How did you end up in Kirkwall?”

It was her turn to cringe. “Uldred's coup... It practically destroyed the Veil surrounding the Circle. All that blood magic, all the death... I can sense demons, and spirits, too. Just like I knew about Justice. Without the Veil at full strength, it was like all of the demons that are drawn to my magic were clustered inside my head trying to claw their way out. Day and night, the headaches were agonizing. Eventually, I had to say goodbye to everything and request for a transfer. Something... happened to Cullen during the coup. He also requested a transfer, so we were both carted off here together. He got promoted and I got library duty. That was until Feynril arrived. A gift from my brother, I'm told. He is a somniari, like me.”

“Hawke never mentioned a somniari,” Anders said with a raised brow.

“It's likely he didn't realize. Orsino probably only recognized the signs from my records. We stood up to Meredith and I'm now Feynril's mentor until he is Harrowed. We were given a year probation each,” she explained.

“Probation? What in the bloody Void does that mean? You're a Harrowed mage. She can't put you to the brand!” He growled angrily, another flicker of Justice peeking from his eyes.

Philippa snorted, remembering Cullen's dismissal of that 'law'. “Meredith sees Chantry law as more like suggestions. And she really doesn't like what I can do. It's far too close to blood magic for her taste, even though the two branches have nothing to do with each other.”

“Maker, and I thought Greagoir was bad.” Anders paused, getting Justice under control before he spoke again. “I noticed the fear in your eyes earlier when you thought you might be caught by Ser Alrik. Have you had many dealings with him?”

Philippa shook her head. “Since I was brought to the Circle as a child, I've never feared a templar. Wynne called them window dressings.” She chuckled, hugging herself against the chill in the tunnels that easily penetrated her thin nightdress. “I've heard only a little about Ser Alrik, but it was enough to make me want to steer clear of him.”

“I've heard more. He's the templar who performed the ritual on Karl. I have people looking into him, but my inside sources are not as reliable as I would like. They scare easily. Typical Circle mages,” he grumbled.

“Present company is offended,” she said sarcastically.

He looked her over, his expression belying the wheels turning in his head. “You said you know the secrets of this Circle... and you don't sound as if you're happy here. Would you be willing to help the Underground?”

“Just because I know things, doesn't mean I have access to them, Anders. I'm not exactly the most popular girl in the Gallows...”

“Then why was it that the Knight-Captain summoned you to the Courtyard today?” Anders asked.

“When another of the recruits returned, I felt the demon inside him. I warned Cullen. He asked me there to make certain that the one Garrett found and returned wasn't carrying a passenger,” she explained.

“I had already conducted a test to prove he was possession free,” Anders frowned. “Couldn't your Knight-Captain just believe Hawke when he gave the report?”

“First of all, he isn't _my_ Knight-Captain,” she said defensively. “Secondly, Garrett couldn't exactly say that his mage friend was sure... Cullen is not the same templar you remember from Kinloch Hold. You heard what he said today. 'Mages aren't people'. He doesn't trust anyone with magic.”

“Yet he seems to trust you,” Anders pointed out with his brow raised.

She shrugged. “We have an understanding. I'm just the right amount of annoying that I am able to talk reason into his lyrium suffused brain, but not so annoying that he has reason to report me to Meredith. I wouldn't call it trust.”

“But it could be useful. Think about it, Phil.” Anders suggested, his hand briefly gripping her bicep. “I should be going. I assume you know the way back to your room?”

She nodded. “Oh, one more thing, Anders. If it's not some big secret, why did Garrett need maps of the Deep Roads?”

“He and Varric are planning some expedition. It will supposedly make them enough coin to get out of Lowtown. Your uncle's place is not exactly a mansion. With the five of them living together, it's a bit cramped. The life of a refugee in Kirkwall is far from easy, but your brother has made quite a name for himself. The twins are good in a pinch as well, even if Carver is a tit.” Anders' lip curled up slightly for a moment. “But Beth is sweet.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Tell Garrett I wish him luck. I'm glad he's looking after Mother and our siblings. He always was a protector.”

“Goodnight, Phil. Be careful getting back to your room,” Anders warned before tapping his staff on the ground and lighting the tip so he could see in the darkness ahead.

Philippa rarely got invited to meetings within the Circle anymore. Usually, any news of changes to her routine was reported to her after the fact. When Orsino summoned her to the weekly meeting, it made her nervous. She sat in a chair, situated around an ornate oak table. The collection of Senior Enchanters and Enchanters all settled in, some of them eyeing her warily. She slouched in the chair, not wishing to stand out any more than she already was. This meeting was eerily familiar, reminding her of the last one she had attended in Kinloch right before everything collapsed. She stroked the spine of her quill, the smooth texture of the feather centering her nerves. Once everyone was seated, Orsino stood and held up his hands for silence.

“My fellow mages, This meeting is a bit different today. I've called you all here because there has been a fire in the Circle in Starkhaven. From what I understand, it was severe enough that the place is no longer habitable. Their population has been split up between Ansburg, Ostwick and ourselves. We will all need to be accommodating to the newcomers. I will be writing out new schedules for everyone and some of you will be assigned new apprentices and interns.”

There was an influx of chatter that erupted around the table. Philippa frowned, wondering what exactly this had to do with her. She was likely not going to be given any new apprentices or interns. Her question was soon answered as Orsino quieted everyone and continued. “In an attempt to make the transition as painless as possible for our new friends, Phil, I would like for you to work alongside Marcella to stock up the infirmary and set it up for the injured and the weary that we are likely to receive. You are our two best healers.”

Marcella spoke up, clearing her throat. She was an older woman, her hair still clinging desperately to the vestiges of brown from her youth. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she set them on Philippa. “It's no trouble, First Enchanter. I don't wish to distract 'Phil' from her mentoring duties. I can run the infirmary alone.”

Philippa pressed her lips together while Orsino insisted. “With all due respect, Marcella, you are an excellent healer, but you are no spirit healer. I would prefer if you and Phil worked together.”

As the rest of the meeting droned on, Marcella's eyes cut daggers at Philippa. When they finally adjourned, Philippa gathered her things and headed directly for Marcella. “From the way you're glaring, Marcella, you would think I smelled of rotten onions. Is there a reason I'm the focus of your cutting stare?”

“If you must know, I don't trust you,” Marcella said bluntly.

Philippa drew her head back, her lip curling. “You don't even know me. Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'don't judge a book by it's cover'?”

The older woman pursed her lips and glanced around to be sure that the crowd had dispersed before she spoke again. “I was friends with Mharen for nearly four decades. You show up and suddenly she goes missing... I think you did something to her. Sent her into a trap...”

“What in the Maker's name gave you that idea?” Philippa gasped.

“I know what you are. It doesn't take a genius to see that you bewitched my oldest friend with blood magic and coerced her to leave the safety of the Gallows. I think you're in league with her murderer. I took my suspicions to Ser Emeric and he assured me that a certain Serah Hawke was the one who discovered Mharen's bones. This forced me to conclude that not only were you in league with the murderer, but you were related. Unfortunately, Emeric brushed aside my suspicions...”

Philippa stared at Marcella, her mouth gaping. Suddenly, a shudder of fear coursed through her veins, turning her blood to ice. “You can't just go around accusing people of blood magic and conspiracy without evidence! What would I even have against Mharen?”

“Does a blood mage need a reason to prey on the weak?” Marcella accused.

Philippa harrumphed. “So by your logic, you probably shouldn't have told me that you suspected me. Now my next step should be to bewitch you and send you off to my brother, yes?”

All of the color drained from Marcella's face. “Did you just threaten me?”

Philippa pressed her lips together, hugging her waist with one arm and tapping her lips with the other. “Hmm... yes... I could see where you might think that. But since I'm not a blood mage, to answer your question, no that was not a threat. I wouldn't even know where to begin to bewitch another person's mind.”

Philippa tensed as another voice entered the room. “What is going on in here?”

Cullen moved to stand between the two of them, his calculating eyes studying both of them in turn. “Knight-Captain! You're just in time,” Philippa said loudly in mock excitement. “Marcella here was just accusing me rather brazenly of being a blood mage.”

Cullen cringed. “Wh...” he cleared his throat and drew himself taller, his hands wrapping tightly around the hilt of his sword. “Why exactly do you have reason to accuse Enchanter Hawke of such a grave crime?”

“Think about what happened to her roommate, Ser. Mharen would never leave the Gallows on her own...” Marcella reasoned.

Cullen's brow rose slightly before the right half of his lips followed. “Are you aware that Enchanter Hawke was the one to report Mharen's disappearance before anyone had even noticed she was gone? Why draw attention to the deed if it was her doing? There is no logic in that.”

Philippa was actually shocked to hear Cullen standing up for her, but gladdened as well. He was blowing the wind right out of Marcella's sails. The older mage glanced between the two of them, sputtering about her conclusions. Finally, Philippa had enough. “Listen, Marcella. If we can't work together without you accusing me of blood magic, I am more than happy to take the burden of the infirmary onto my shoulders completely. You can go back to hating me in silence... from afar.”

Philippa swore she caught a slight snort of amusement from Cullen before he spoke up. “I think that is a wise decision. I will inform the First Enchanter personally of the change in plans and explain the necessity. You may both go.”

Marcella stormed out angrily, her long braid flapping behind her. Philippa turned to look at Cullen with a smile. “Thank you.”

“No need. What I said was true. No logic would convince a blood mage to report their own misdeeds,” he said stiffly.

She shrugged. “Well, I'm still grateful. At least someone around here doesn't think I'm a blood mage.” She was glad that at least something she had done made the original Cullen peek through. Perhaps if she kept it up, he would finally see that the actions of the misguided souls in Kinloch did not reflect the intentions of others.


	13. Siblings Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa continues her day to day life until her younger brother shows up in the Gallows to become a templar, and his twin is 'lost' in the Deep Roads. Her apprentice nears his Harrowing, but his magic is not up to snuff.

Feynril was not particularly good at creation spells, but he was still her apprentice, so she altered their schedule for the next few weeks as they prepared for the arrival of the Starkhaven mages. She prepared beds, mixed up potions, showed Feynril some simple healing spells and even handled a few of their native mages that came in needing healing after accidents in the classroom.

On the intended arrival date, she was posted in the infirmary, she and Feynril mixing up some last minute healing draughts and poultices. After lunch, there were still no new mages and Philippa started to get curious. Right before she was ready to get up and go find out what the delay was, Ser Thrask knocked softly and entered with a young man. He had dark skin and a mixture of fear and nervousness painted over his face. She guessed he was no older than perhaps seventeen. “It's about time. I was starting to get bored,” Philippa said jokingly as she ushered the boy to a bed so she could check him out. She knew Thrask had been the one that was sent out to the coast to meet the group and their templar escorts, so she glanced briefly away from his charge to ask him. “Can I expect any other patients?” Her tone was harsh because even with the glance over the boy, she saw cuts and bruises that most definitely came from a blade, not from walking through the underbrush.

Thrask cleared his throat awkwardly. “I apologize, Enchanter Hawke. Alain here is all that is left of the Starkhaven mages that traveled to Kirkwall. There was... an incident.”

She raised her brow as she turned her attention to the young man again and began to clean his wounds with a warm, wet rag. “An incident? Did he happen to get into a fight with a rusty dagger, or were these wounds an 'accident'?”

“P-Please,” the boy spoke up, his eyes widening. “Don't blame Ser Thrask. He tried to help us.”

Hawke looked over at Thrask, knowing him well enough to know that the boy was likely telling the truth. “Did he now? So tell me... Alain, was it?... What exactly _did_ happen?”

Alain's eyes flicked back and forth between her and Thrask and Thrask nodded gently. “It's all right, Alain. Enchanter Hawke can be trusted.”

Alain nodded shyly, his eyes dropping to look at his hands. “The mages I was traveling with, they were unhappy with the templars we were being escorted by... one of the apprentices got scared and tried to run a few days ago out by the coast. The templars tracked him down and killed him. He never even attacked them. He was just scared. You hear stories about the Gallows... Anyway, one of the others, Decimus, he attacked the templars and urged us all to flee. We holed up in a cave system on the coast. It wasn't long after that, Decimus began to preach about how wrong the Circles were. Then he cut himself. I... I've never seen or felt something so foul as the magic that he called from his blood.” Alain shuddered visibly, rubbing his hands together. “The dead in the caverns began to rise and attacked everything in sight. I ran. That's how I got these injuries.”

Philippa frowned. “How did you escape the tunnels?”

Thrask cleared his throat and when she glanced at him, he smiled gently. “I called for aide from one Serah Hawke.”

Her eyes widened. “Garrett?” Thrask nodded. She sighed in relief. “My brother does always seem to have himself at the right place at the right time.”

“He was able to go where I could not. Unfortunately, according to him, the others were not so cooperative as Alain here. Some escaped toward the coast, but a good number were killed,” Thrask explained.

Philippa went back to tending to Alain's wounds. “I'm glad at least one of you survived. You did the right thing, Alain.”

It was a few weeks later that Philippa got the surprise of a lifetime in the form of a new templar recruit. She was walking through the halls to the infirmary where Orsino had appreciated her work so much that he had requested Meredith allow her to stay. If she had replaced anyone else, she might have felt bad, but Marcella didn't deserve her pity. She set down her things just as Feynril arrived and she smiled at him. His return smile was less than enthusiastic. “More dreams?” she asked knowingly.

He nodded. “They're getting worse, not better,” he explained. “I had a bit of trouble waking up last night.”

She frowned. “Just remember what I taught you. That advice got me through years of dreams.”

His fists clenched. “I'm not you, Phil. Nothing works!”

She felt his magic flare, but she had the presence of mind to shield herself and set a stern look on him. “Get control of yourself before I have to explain why the infirmary burned down around us.”

He closed his eyes, his head dipping as he breathed in deeply and slowly back out. “I'm sorry. I'm just tired.”

She moved to his side, dropping her barrier to place a hand on his shoulder. “I empathize, Feynril. I promise, when your Harrowing is over, things will get much easier.”

“I hope so. I don't know how much more of this I can take,” he said sadly, picking up a fresh cloth and beginning the task of rolling the bandages.

The door opened slowly and Cullen poked his head in. “I trust this is not a bad time, Enchanter Hawke,” he said politely.

“Of course not, come in, Knight-Captain. How can I help?” she said, patting Feynril's shoulder one last time before approaching Cullen. He was followed by a string of young men and women mostly in their late teens and early twenties.

“One of Marcella's previous duties was to evaluate the physical health of the new templar recruits. As the new head physician, that falls to you,” he explained as the recruits lined up behind him, looking around the infirmary. “I trust you're up to the task,” Cullen continued.

“A bit of warning might have been nice, but I can handle it,” she said with half a scowl. She was willing to bet this was dropped in her lap by Meredith looking to toss her out of her new position.

Cullen nodded. “We simply need to know they are fit for training and whether their bodies can handle regularly imbibing lyruim,” he said before turning to the group. “Okay, recruits. Form a line and Enchanter Hawke will see you one by one. Answer any and all questions posed to you truthfully, because trust me, she will know if you are lying.”

She looked up and down the line slowly forming and one of the recruits in particular caught and held her gaze with a scathing glare. She stared for a moment, unable to believe what she was seeing. He placed himself toward the middle of the line, forcing her to wait to get a word with him. She didn't know him well enough to guess his motivations, but she intended to grill him particularly hard. She swallowed her shock at seeing her younger brother and turned to Feynril who was looking on in curiosity. “Feynril, would you mind taking notes for me while I perform the examinations?”

Feynril stood from his seat, setting down a few rolled bandages. “Of course, Phil.”

She spent the better part of her morning with Cullen hovering nearby, watching intently as she performed a standard physical evaluation on each individual recruit and asked them personal questions. He was far enough away that she needn't worry about him overhearing her as she asked those questions, but still, she cast a thin barrier that would muffle their voices while they discussed things.

When Carver finally stepped around the curtain, before she even began, she crossed her arms. “Please tell me this isn't some teenage rebellion.”

He scowled heavily. “Hardly. Beth and I are twenty, now, in case you forgot. As if you were around to remember anyway.”

She returned his scowl. “As if I had a choice. I didn't _go_ to the Circle. They _took_ me there. My point is, you have two mage siblings and still you decide the Chantry is the place for you?”

“I'm not going to turn in Beth, if that's what you're worried about. Unlike _your_ twin, I still know what family loyalty is.” Carver grumbled.

She sat him down on the exam bed, half tempted to perform the tests and rule him unfit. “What exactly does that mean?”

“As I'm certain you've been told, Garrett got us to the city by the skin of our teeth. We've been living under Uncle Gamlen's roof for nearly two years. Garrett found a way to dig us out, but when it came down to actually going on the expedition, _I_ got left behind. He even took the bloody dog. I'm tired of living in his shadow. I need to find my place,” Carver explained angrily.

“And you think that place is with the templars?” Philippa asked with a frown.

“Where would you suggest?” he asked sarcastically.

She snorted. “They city guard, mercenary work, farming, pick up a trade?”

“Maker, you sound like Aveline,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, I don't know who that is, but she sounds like a smart woman,” Philippa said with a chuckle as she continued her examination.

He shrugged. “Garrett and I worked with mercenaries for a year after we got here. Our skills were used to pay off the debt of getting our family into the city. No one in Kirkwall will take a refugee on as an apprentice, and Aveline insists I would make a terrible guard and keeps burying my application. I have nowhere else to go. If I want my sword arm to mean something in this city, the templars are my last option.”

Finishing her evaluation, Philippa found nothing physically wrong with Carver. He was fit, young and motivated, even if those motivations seemed slightly off kilter. It was not her place to judge his mental state, merely his physical one, and it was exceptional. “Well, as far as I can tell, you're in pique physical condition. Congratulations, brother. You're fit to be a templar.”

“Thank you... Phil... am I allowed to call you that, now?” he said with a crook of his brow. “Or should I call you Enchanter Hawke?”

“It's a personal choice, though most of the templars do call me Enchanter Hawke. Mostly because they don't like me,” she said with a chuckle.

“I suppose I'll figure that out in time,” he said with half a grin.

Carver was usually professional when they would bump into each other in the halls. One day, several weeks after he had donned the templar uniform, she was called to Orsino's office. Carver stood in the doorway as well. He greeted her with a simple nod as Orsino ushered her in and offered them both a seat. He glanced between them, his expression sympathetic. “I've called you both here, because the news I've received concerns you both. There was an incident in the Deep Roads during the expedition that your brother and sister went on...” Philippa's heart clenched. This was sounding ominous. “They group they were traveling with was sent ahead to scout and got trapped in the tunnels. Your brother returned to the city yesterday.”

“What of Bethany?” Carver asked, his voice choked.

“I'm sorry, but we don't know,” Orsino said gently.

“What do you mean, you 'don't know'?” Philippa asked, her brow furrowing.

Orsino sighed. “The letter I received from Garrett Hawke stated that while in the Deep Roads, Bethany contracted the Blight sickness. A Grey Warden they were traveling with led them to another group of Wardens nearby and Bethany was handed off to them near death. He has not heard whether she survived the Joining.”

Carver's fists balled and he punched the arms of the chair he was sitting in, the wood creaking. “I should have been with them!” he growled angrily.

Philippa reached out and took Carver's closest hand in hers, attempting to soothe him through the hard metal of his gauntlets. “She'll be fine, Carver...” she said gently.

“What do you know?” he snapped at her.

Philippa bit her lip and flicked her eyes between Carver and the First Enchanter. “Do you have anything of hers, Carver?” she asked warily.

She had never tried to reach someone's dreams from so far away before, but for their sister, she was willing to try. Finding her might at least give closure to her family. “What do you mean?” he asked just as warily.

“Did the templars explain to you what my special ability was when you took up the shield?” Philippa wondered curiously.

He shook his head. “All they said was that you needed to be watched because you were particularly susceptible to possession.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “They have no idea...” She cut herself off and sighed. “Demons _are_ drawn to my magic, but possession is a choice. One I will never make. My point is, I am what's known as a 'dreamer'. I can enter the Fade at will and get into other people's dreams if I concentrate hard enough. If I had something of hers to anchor me to her mind, if Bethany is alive, I can tell you.”

Carver balked, his expression souring. “How many mages are capable of that?”

“As far as I know, there are two dreamers alive today in Kirkwall, but we are the only ones. It is an extremely uncommon field,” she assured him. “The gift does not come without it's burdens. Many who are born dreamers do not survive the experience.”

Orsino, who had remained silent through her explanation looked between the two if them, his fingers steepled on his desk. “Phil, I don't have a problem with you exercising your talents, but I would recommend that you do not make it public knowledge. Meredith may construe it a bit differently than you do.”

Philippa glanced at him and snorted again. “Well it's not like I was going to go to sleep on her desk...”

Carver was silent for a few minutes, staring blankly at the front of Orsino's desk, his expression jumping between hurt, fear, and anger. Finally it settled on hurt, and he looked up at Philippa. “I'll bring you something of hers. Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Philippa assured him, “but make it something that she treasured. The connection needs to be strong if I'm going to reach her from such a distance. The last time I was inside someone else's dream, they were only a few rooms away.”

He sighed heavily. “I'll ask Meredith for the rest of the day off to visit Mother.”

Philippa drew in a hiss of breath. “I wouldn't involve Meredith. Ask Cullen. He's likely to be more sympathetic.”

Carver narrowed is eyes but nodded. “If you think that's best. I'll return after supper with something of Beth's.”

Philippa saw Carver while she was at supper, but he did not approach her, thankfully not being obvious that they were planning something. Philippa was convinced that if she was caught trying to dream-walk, her probation would end and she would be tranquil before she could blink.

By the time she went to bed, she had Bethany's favorite childhood stuffed animal in her possession. She hid it from Ella as the girl entered, beginning her nightly ritual of talking Philippa's ear off. She was used to it by now. Ella was simply lonely. She could understand the feeling. She had been much the same after she came to Kirkwall. She seemed to miss her family most of all, particularly her mother. She spoke of her often, but Meredith had never granted her permission to write home, so Ella's family had no idea where she even was or if she was safe. Just another failing of the templars in Kirkwall.

When Ella finally said goodnight, Philippa laid down as well, snuffing her candle and going quiet to listen for Ella's snores. It had been a while since Philippa had tried to dream-walk. Since Mharen had gone missing to be exact. She took in a breath, pulling the familiar blanket of the Fade around her and clutching Bethany's doll in her hands. She concentrated on the emotions that Bethany had poured into the doll over the years, reaching for an answering dreaming mind in the Fade. Finally, she caught hold of a wisp, that upon being noticed, swirled around her excitedly and guided her through the Fade. This was unlike stepping into Finn's mind. She knew where he was, how he felt. Bethany was almost a complete stranger in spite of their shared blood. With that thought, she stopped and cursed. “Phil, you idiot,” she grumbled. The wisp bobbed up and down in front of her encouragingly, knowing what she was thinking.

There was something to be said about the bond of siblings. She had met Bethany only once for a few moments, but when she closed her eyes, she could still picture her face as if she had grown up alongside her. She followed that instinct, reaching for her sister. She began to move, relying on her instincts in the Fade to guide her. Suddenly, she felt a physical change in her environment and opened her eyes. She was inside a place that she knew well, the cottage ingrained in her memories from when she was a child. She looked around, seeing the sitting room where she had last sat with her mother as she brushed her hair. Twenty years ago that had been. The furniture was much older than she remembered, battered and frayed from time, the fabric faded. The fireplace crackled and she smiled as she watched Bethany and Garrett sitting on the couch laughing. She watched the scene for a little while, before drawing in a breath and stepping out of sight to work her magic. From beyond the door that led to where she and Garrett used to sleep, (the image faded and incomplete because it was not part of the dream) she took hold of the stitches of the Fade around her and gently woke Bethany from her dream.

After a few moments, as Philippa held onto the image of the sitting room, Bethany softly called out. “Hello?”

She lifted her hands and stepped into the room. “Hello, Bethany.”

Bethany stood, looking up and down Philippa, her brow creasing in a frown. “I was dreaming... this is the Fade. How are we here together?”

“Please let me explain,” Philippa said softly, gesturing Bethany to the couch.

“Are you a demon?” Bethany asked warily.

Philippa chuckled, sitting down on the couch even though Bethany remained standing. “Not the last time I checked... At any rate, I doubt a demon would come to you in my shape. What am I to you? Sure, we share blood, but we know nothing about each other. I don't think I could seduce you even if I tried.”

“Then how are you here?” Bethany demanded.

“Have a seat and let me explain.” Bethany eyed her warily, but finally took a tentative seat on the edge of the couch as far from Philippa as she could get. “First of all, you should know something that Father never did. I am not just any mage. I am called a somniari, or a 'dreamer', if you prefer. I can... shape the Fade around me. I can also enter another person's dreams and take control... alter them if I wish, and I can draw a person from their dreams so I can speak with them in the Fade while they sleep. That's what I'm doing now.”

“Why?” Bethany asked with a sharp inhalation.

“Some news before I explain. While you and Garrett were in the Deep Roads, Carver took it upon himself to join the templar order,” she informed Bethany. Her sister's shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily, but she nodded, prompting Philippa to continue. “When Garrett returned without you, he notified us in the Circle. Carver was upset and no one knew whether you were alive or dead. He went home and retrieved something of yours so I could use it to find you here, in the Fade. We wanted to know if you were safe.”

Bethany nodded in acceptance. “I'm glad... that you care so much to do this...”

Philippa reached out tentatively and took hold of Bethany's hand. “You're my sister. Even if we don't know each other well, I worry. About all of you. Even bloody Garrett.”

Bethany laughed lightly. “I don't think I've ever seen him more excited than when we ran into you in the Gallows courtyard. Growing up, he talked about you constantly. I suppose I always sort of wished I could meet you.”

Philippa chuckled. “I was a bit of a mess growing up. Having these nightmares and unable to control them. I'm not sure how much of a role model I would have been.”

“After you were taken, Garrett says that Father blamed himself for a long time. He seemed to think he should have protected you like he did me. I was his second chance to get it right. He taught me so much, but what you can do... it's amazing. Seems like you've done alright for yourself,” Bethany said sadly.

“Father did more for me than he knows. His words follow me. I still cling to his most basic principle,” Philippa said with a smile.

Bethany sat straighter, puffing out her chest and deepened her tone. “My magic will serve the best in me, not that which is most base,” she quoted.

Philippa giggled. “Oh, Maker, to hear someone else say those words...”

Bethany wrung her hands together. “When he died, I felt so alone. The only mage in the family. Mother refused to talk about you. I was fifteen. I had to take Father's books and teach myself a lot of the magic I know now.”

“I'm sorry, Bethany. I wish I could have been a proper sister,” Philippa confessed.

Bethany looked up, not a single tear in her eyes as Philippa had expected. “That doesn't matter. What matters is you're here now. One of the most confusing times in my life and _you're_ here. You've come all this way just to make sure I'm alive. I thought for sure I was going to die, but the Wardens saved me. Tell Garrett and Carver I love them. Maybe we could write each other? I would love to get to know my sister better.”

“I would love that. Just try and keep this little meeting secret and no magic talk that might get me branded. The Chantry sunburst really doesn't go with my complexion,” she said with a smile.

Bethany giggled softly. “You remind me so very much of Garrett. You two seem to be more alike than Carver and I could ever hope to be.”

Philippa grinned. “It does seem that you siphoned all of the sense inside Mother's womb. You must have been on top.”

Bethany snorted. “Carver _was_ born first.”

“You see, there you have it,” Philippa smiled. “I should be going. Time works differently here, but I can't say how differently. It varies from dream to dream.”

“Be safe, Phil, and thank you for checking on me,” Bethany said with one final smile.

Philippa drew herself from Bethany's mind and sent her sister back to her dreams. When she woke, she was relieved to see that it was still night and Ella was still asleep across the room. The doll in her hands was warm from her clutching it so tightly. She smiled at the ruffled old thing and hugged it against her. She was glad to have had the opportunity to speak with Bethany. She tucked the doll in her nightstand drawer and rolled to her side to go to sleep, her heart light.

Not long after returning from the Deep Roads, Garrett moved himself and their mother into the old family estate in Hightown. Philippa knew this because Carver knew. Bethany started to write to Philippa regularly, just as she started to hear from Finn again. Much to her surprise, he had refused to return to the Circle after his adventure with Solona had finished. He stayed with the Dalish woman that they had traveled with, continuing to adventure and see the world. When the templars attempted to recapture him, the woman had wrested his phylactery from the templars and Finn had left them unconscious along the road as they escaped. She was proud of how he spoke like he was happy. She only felt a minuscule twinge of regret that she could not be the one at his side. She was just glad to hear from him.

Bethany seemed to be flourishing with the Wardens. She had met a Ferelden Warden during her training that was nearly eight years her senior, but she spoke about him like he had no equal. His name was Nathaniel and he was apparently very good with a bow, and another one of Solona's recruits from Vigil's Keep.

Philippa still saw Garrett from time to time as he discreetly conducted business with the circle. Apparently a fortune and a mansion could not keep him from making his skills for hire. Philippa, however, had more pressing matters to attend to. It was coming up on Feynril's Harrowing, and she felt like he was ill prepared, no matter how hard they worked. His control over his dreams was spotty, and he had never gotten the hang of pinching himself, electing to run further into his dreams rather than wrest himself free.

Less than a month before it was time for him to take his Harrowing, Feynril was late for their morning class. Philippa waited nearly an hour before going to look for him. When she made it to his room, there was no one around, but Feynril was asleep on his bed. His brow was furrowed and he twitched and muttered in his sleep. No matter what she tried, she could not wake him. Her gut sinking in fear, she left him, rushing to the First Enchanter's office. She slipped inside and Orsino looked up with a frown when she closed the door behind her. “We have a problem,” she said breathlessly from her run and her pounding heart.

“What's happened, Phil?” Orsino asked, setting his quill down and rising from his seat to circle his desk to her side.

“Feynril was late for our class this morning and when I went looking for him... he's in his bed asleep. I can't wake him,” she choked.

Orsino's eyes widened. “We must not allow Meredith to find out.”

“She'll brand him in his sleep before we can do anything,” Philippa agreed.

Orsino nodded thoughtfully. “Let's move him to the infirmary. If anyone asks, we'll say he's ill. After that, we will work out what's to be done.”

“How are we supposed to move him?” she asked.

“I will handle that. You go on back there so you're not missed in case of a surprise inspection,” Orsino said with a reassuring smile. “We'll handle this, Phil. I promise.”

Five hours later, Philippa was sitting beside Feynril's side in the infirmary, trying to decide what she should do. Orsino had been less than helpful after getting Feynril to her, because he had to make certain he distracted attention away from her, so he couldn't be there with her. Finally, she had enough of trying to wake him with normal means. Nothing was working. She got up, closed the door to the infirmary and erected a barrier over the exit. Then she rushed back to the bed beside Feynril's and settled herself on the mattress. After a few false starts when her anxiety flared, Philippa took a deep breath, ran her fingers over the crystals on her bracelet and forced herself into the Fade. She had never tried to enter the dreams of another somniari, and frankly the thought terrified her.

She reached for Feynril's mind, not completely unfamiliar with his aura after nearly a year of casting beside each other. When she opened her eyes in the Fade, she was uncertain at first whether her spell had worked. She was inside the Gallows. She recognized the hall that led to the kitchens. The longer she stood there, the easier it was to discern that her spell had indeed worked. She could feel the demons hovering nearby, her head beginning to pulse in time with her heartbeat. The most disconcerting thing about this was that yes, there were demons. Plural. Philippa could not recall ever being approached by more than one demon at a time. She assumed that the splitting of his mind as the demons forced multiple dreams on him at once was what led most somniari to their deaths. If she wasn't careful, interference could fracture his mind. She headed toward the main hall, in the direction of the demons. She was shocked when she stepped through the door and not only was there a lesser demon, but she was faced with more people that really shouldn't have been there. With his arms crossed over his chest, Garret stood in front of the demon, scowling. Behind him, his dwarven friend, the tattooed elf, and the shape of Anders stood as well. She said the shape because the thing in Anders' body was clearly not driven by the man himself. She could see Justice peeking through the fissures in Anders' skin. He stood stiffly, his shoulders squared and his feet together. Anders was never so rigid. He always stood slightly hunched because his height normally outdid everyone around him, so he compensated by slouching. She never would have described Anders' usual posture as proud, but the spirit straightened his spine and thrust his chest forward. She approached the group, wondering exactly how they had managed to get there. Before she could say a thing, the demon that had been talking to Garrett straightened and ceased it's scheming to brush past her brother and approach her. She could feel it's excitement and eagerness.

"Rude," her brother grumbled. "We were talking."

Garrett turned and his eyes widened as the demon spoke to her. “It must be my lucky day to be approached by not only one but two dreamers.”

Philippa crossed her arms and scoffed. “Have a taste, demon. I'm not some simpering child that you can manipulate. You'll get nothing from me and you'll get nothing from Feynril. I suggest you leave before I get cranky.”

The demon hesitated, it's power reaching out to caress over her skin. She tried not to flinch at the cold touch of the demon, pushing her own power toward it in warning. “And here I thought when this one showed up, my meal would come to me. Very well, dreamer. I know when to retreat.”

The demon backed away and disappeared, relinquishing it's chance to take control of Feynril. “Phil, what the bloody hell are you doing here?” Garrett asked as the demon faded. “How did you get here?”

“She is a dreamer,” Justice growled, Anders' honey eyes replaced by the blue glow of the spirit. “Just like the boy.”

Garrett frowned at her before glancing back at Justice. “Did Anders know this?”

“He does. He believed you did as well,” Justice explained with a shrug.

“Why didn't you tell me, Phil?” Garrett asked, his expression falling.

She shrugged. “I assumed Carver or Bethany would have mentioned it. It's not like it's ever come up in our brief conversations.”

Garrett frowned again. “Am I the only one who didn't know?”

“No,” the tattooed elf grunted in a threatening tone, his face twisting in a scowl as his hand twitched near the hilt of his massive sword.

Philippa rolled her eyes. “This is not the time for hurt feelings. Feynril's mind won't last much longer with all of the demons here. We need to be careful. If we push too hard, we'll do their work for them.”

“There are two other demons here, vying for the boy's mind,” Justice said in his deep gravely voice which was so unlike Anders' soft Ferelden accent that it made her frown as she watched him emote with Anders' face. “I suggest we split up for the sake of urgency.”

Garrett nodded. “Fenris, go with Phil, please. Make sure she's safe. The rest of us will stay together. We can meet back here.”

As Garrett left with the others, the tattooed elf stepped up next to her, his jade green eyes narrowed in mistrust. She offered him a smile. “Have you ever enlisted to be a templar? You certainly have the scowl for it,”

“Wonderful,” Fenris grumbled. “Another mage with a mouth. Let's go.” He drew his sword and hiked it onto his shoulder as she headed off toward the staircase that in the real world would lead them to the dormitories.

Once they passed inside, a strange sensation washed over Philippa and she glanced around. Fenris was gone. She felt strange, like she was not in her own skin. When she looked down, her arms and torso were much thinner than she was used to and she wore a simple dress and footwraps.

Ignoring the illusion, she stepped further into the room where a young blonde boy of perhaps seven or eight sat at a desk Leaning over his shoulder was a man with long brown hair pulled off his face and held back with two braids. "That's it, Feynril. Hard on the down stroke, then lift. Good! I'll have you scribing all my letters soon. If I'd known you were such a bright lad, I'd have brought you into the business years ago."The accent the man spoke in was unfamiliar to Philippa, but she was far from worldly.

"Does that mean I can come with you to Antiva, father?" the young version of Feynril asked hopefully. "Mother said maybe this summer..." he glanced at her. "Right, Mother?"

Philippa balked, realizing that she must have appeared in the form of something familiar to Feynril. This was the demon's doing. It couldn't control her speech, however and she said, "Your father never wanted anything to do with you. Don't trust him." Feynril had shared a lot about his family in the time she had known him. She knew precisely what to say.

"Why are you lying to me?" Feynril asked, looking up at the man.

"Don't listen, son. She's always been ashamed of you," his father begged. "She wanted you gone so she could go back to the Dalish. I'm the one who loves you."

"But... why can't I remember you?" Feynril asked, his small brow wrinkling.

"This is a trick, Feynril," Philippa said gently. "He wants something from you."

"Why...? That's right! I spent my whole childhood waiting for you."

"Your mother never allowed..." the man began, but Feynril cut him off.

"My mother loves me! She showed me the letters she wrote you. You never wrote back. And it was Mother who taught me to write, not you! I've never met you before! Who are you?" Feynril stood from his seat, his fists balled.

"Don't... question..." as it spoke, the illusions disappeared and the demon was revealed, Fenris reappearing with a shake of his head. "...me!" Desire, Philippa realized as Feynril turned and fled with a shout of fear. "You... you turned him against me."

"Complete accident... I was trying to help. Honest," she said sarcastically, glad to hear her own voice coming from her throat.

The demon stood in it's true form before them, a lithe, feminine form with lavendar skin, most of which was exposed. The nipples on it's perky breasts were covered in golden caps connected to each other by a thin gold chain.The pants that puffed out over it's legs rode low on it's hips and were slit strategically along their length. It's bony tail hung from it's rear, stiff and spiked. It had two horns that curved from it's conical head that was wreathed in magical purple flame. “Well,” it purred with a chuckle. “Aren't you a ripe replacement for the dreamer you just cost me.”

“I'm not replacing anyone. You can either leave like the demon of sloth outside, or you'll leave in pieces,” Philippa threatened.

The demon hummed a throaty chuckle. “But I could give you everything your heart desires.” It shifted it's form, taking on a visage that made Philippa laugh out loud. Cullen stood before her, his lopsided grin in place and his stance casual and carefree.

“You've _got_ to be kidding. If that's the best you can wrest from my mind, you're really not cut out for the temptation business,” Philippa taunted, her stomach doing a strange flip flop as she said it.

“Very well. If you won't be tempted, at least I will gain a death from you and your companion,” the demon said in Cullen's familiar voice.

Out of nowhere, the demon pounced, slashing for Philippa. She danced back and called mana to her fists. The magic was unnecessary as Fenris charged forward, the tattoos on his skin erupting in a blue glow that hummed with lyrium song. His body shifted in and out of focus as if he were phasing in and out of existence. The demon's claws darted for him, slicing through his chest and completely missing him as he flickered out of phase. He was like a wraith as he slashed upwards with his massive sword, cleaving the demon in two, just as a few more shades manifested on the field. Philippa watched 'Cullen' fall and then scowled, drawing her magic to the surface, thrusting a fireball at the nearest shade and erecting a barrier to protect herself as the other slithered toward her. That one she knocked back with a mindblast just as Fenris executed a move with his sword that created a tornado of destruction around him, slicing through all of the demons that had come for him. She cast another fireball to take care of the final demon and then reigned in her magic. “What _are_ those markings?” she wondered in amazement as Fenris allowed the tattoos to return to dormancy, his body solidifying.

“Useful,” he grumbled, heading for the door they had come in, once again securing his sword on his back.

Philippa hurried out after him, seeing Garrett emerging from the opposite door across the hall with a sour look on his face, sans his dwarven friend. Below, in the middle of the main hall, Feynril stood, the heels of his hands pressed to his forehead. He was hunched around himself, clearly shaken. She pushed past the grumpy elf and rushed toward her apprentice. “Feynril!”

He looked up, his eyes wide as he looked at her. “Phil! Are you real? Please tell me you're real.”

She chuckled softly. “You forgot to pinch yourself.” She checked him over for injuries, but his fade self seemed intact.

“What else is new?” he replied with his own choked laugh.

“Listen, Feynril,” she said, drawing his attention back from Garrett who approached them from the stairs to her left. “You have the power to leave the Fade. Just open your eyes.”

"I not sure if this is real. If so, I owe you all my life. You twice over, messere Hawke." He hugged himself, looking around. "The Fade feels different now. I see the stitches, the seams holding it together. I feel I could wake at any moment."

"Dreamers control the Fade and the dreams of people in it," Philippa reminded him softly, urging him to discover his abilities as she had.

He tipped his head. "I see why the Chantry fears us. I've heard tales of magisters who stalked their enemies and used their own dreams to destroy them. You're right. I must master it, find someone to study under. The Circle does not have what I need. Perhaps Tevinter. If these powers can be trained, it would be there."

Philippa nodded, knowing that she was no longer able to help him. He was going to need more than she could teach him, not having learned from trial and error herself. She had been lucky. "I know some people who can help get you out of the Gallows."

"My mother would not look kindly on such a journey. Can you give her my farewell?" Feynril asked, glancing this time at Garrett.

"May the Maker guide your path, Feynril," Garrett said, with a sullen nod.

"Perhaps... there is a way out of this." He turned and faced the stairs up into the Gallows. Rolling his shoulders he said, "I can do this."

Philippa braced herself as Feynril reached for the cracks in the Fade that would allow him to wake up. She remembered the first time she had been able to see those same stitches. It had been her harrowing. She briefly wondered why Garrett was glaring so angrily and where his dwarven friend had gone before she awoke in the bed beside where Feynril was finally stirring. She immediately dragged her barrier from the infirmary door, hoping no one had encountered it while she slept.

Feynril sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Did that really just happen?” he groaned.

“Yes. And I meant what I said. I can help you get out of the Gallows, but it will take some time to arrange things to get you out of the city quickly...”

Before they could continue the conversation, the door burst open and Cullen swept in a snarl curling his lip. “What in the Maker's name is happening in here?” he demanded angrily.

Philippa stood in challenge. “I have no idea what you're on about. I was treating a patient...”

“I'm not in the mood for lies, Hawke...” Cullen growled.

She stepped into his space, narrowing her eyes. “And who says I'm lying?”

“Ser Paxley reported that he passed by here minutes ago on his patrol and there was a barrier in place barring entry,” Cullen continued.

“I would check my source if I were you, Knight-Captain. Feynril has been ill all day, as I'm certain you've heard. I had the door closed to maintain privacy while I treated him, but there was definitely no barrier,” she said cooly, not letting an ounce of concern into her tone. If Cullen had not seen the barrier himself, he could prove nothing.

His own eyes narrowed in mistrust, but she stood her ground, meeting his gaze unerringly. Finally, he flinched, taking half a step back. “Should I find out...”

She cut him off with a flap of her hand. “Instead of worrying about me, perhaps concern yourself with the recruit that scurried off to report a barrier instead of dispelling it himself,” she challenged. “Now if you're finished interrupting, I have things to do here before lights out.”

Cullen cut his eyes at her, but said nothing. She knew when she had won an argument. He always went silent rather than rise to her sarcasm. After he had left, Feynril got up from the bed and moved to her side. “Creators, I don't know how you're able to stand up to them like that. Just the look on his face would have made me confess to everything.”

Philippa turned to him and smirked. “And that is precisely why we need to get you out of here. You go on ahead to supper. I'm certain you're starving. I need to speak with Orsino and write a letter. Just... keep your head down, okay.”

“Of course. Thank you, Phil,” Feynril said with a sigh.

After Feynril was gone, Philippa left the infirmary and headed to the First Enchanter's office. His door was closed, so she knocked softly. His voice beckoned her inside. When she entered, she immediately needed to swallow her heart back down as it attempted to jump from her chest. Meredith was standing behind the chair where Philippa normally sat whenever she visited Orsino's office. “Ah, Phil. Was there something I could help you with?” Orsino said casually.

Philippa dipped her head. “If this is a bad time, I can come back...”

“Nonsense,” Orsino said, eyeing Meredith as she glared mistrustfully at Philippa.

“I simply wished to report that I was able to treat Feynril's symptoms and I sent him to supper,” she said pointedly.

Orsino nodded with a smile. “I'm glad to hear it. The infirmary has definitely improved in efficiency since you took over.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter,” Philippa smiled slightly and then excused herself, her heart hammering rapidly.

That evening, after lights out, Philippa feigned exhaustion to keep Ella from talking her ear off as she plotted her next step. She would need to be careful with Cullen being alerted to the barrier. He would keep a close eye on her for the foreseeable future, and she knew from experience how sneaky he could be when he chose to. After Ella was asleep, she got up and crept from her room she didn't make it far before she was stopped by a familiar figure at the end of the hall. He spotted her, stopping in his tracks, his eyes wide before glancing around and beckoning her to him. “What are you doing?” he asked as she reached him and he turned back around to head for the smugglers' tunnels.

“I was going to the rookery to send a message to you,” she explained.

He nodded and went silent until they got to the tunnels and could talk freely. “It may not have looked it, but I was there today in the Fade. I saw what happened and heard you tell Feynril you were going to help sneak him from the Gallows.” Philippa watched him flinch as he mentioned being present while Justice took control of his body. She bit her lip, worrying at it until he looked her over and sighed. “I know that look. Just ask...”

“What's it like? When he takes over? Are you always fully aware, or can he block you off?” she asked with fascination.

“I'm always there, Phil. Justice has never taken me over so completely that I'm not aware of everything happening around me. Although, when he is in control, sometimes it feels like I need to fight to be heard.” He paused and shrugged. “I suppose he feels like that everyday. Shackled to my body and every decision I make.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly.

He chuckled admiringly. “I swear sometimes when I talk to you, I can see Hawke making the same expressions. It really is uncanny.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” she joked.

“Just the opposite in fact. It reminds me why we were friends in the first place...” he paused again, settling his honey eyes on her and scratching at his head awkwardly. “Have I ever apologized for being such as ass to you in Ferelden?”

She snorted. “No, but if you have something prepared, I'm willing to listen.”

He let out his own soft, snorting, chuckle, a brief smile gracing his lips. She didn't think that was a very common occurrence anymore, and she wished she could preserve it. “Now who's being the ass?”

She laughed. “That was the _worst_ apology I've ever gotten.”

After sharing a moment of levity, the conversation was steered back to their immediate problem. Feynril. Anders agreed to find him swift passage from the city and to arrange to have his phylactery taken out of play. Anders left the way he had come, and Philippa made her way back to her room. When she crept back in, someone cleared their throat. She nearly jumped out of her skin as Ella stepped from the shadows. “What were you doing out of bed?” her roommate's quiet voice asked in concern.

Philippa bit her lip and said, “Would you believe I was sleepwalking?”

Ella smiled nervously. “It's slightly more believable since you're a somniari, Phil, but no I don't believe that.” Philippa moved to her bed and sat on the edge, Ella moving to join her with an inquisitive look on her face.

She sighed heavily before glancing at Ella. “If I tell you this, you have to promise you won't tell _anyone_. There would be a _lot_ of people that could get in heaps of trouble if this got out.”

Ella gasped. “I didn't think it would be that serious. What were you doing?”

After glancing over her roommate once more, and deciding she trusted her, Philippa drew in a breath and said, “I have contacts outside the Circle that exist specifically to help mages. Sometimes it is to sneak letters in and out of the Gallows, or to smuggle things in and out that wouldn't pass inspection otherwise. Other times it is a more dire situation that requires further action.”

Ella sat, staring at Philippa with a dumbfounded look on her face before nodding sheepishly. “I understand if you can't say anything more. I didn't mean to pry. Maker knows I'm not one to take the templars' side.”

Philippa took her hand in hers. “It's all right, Ella. I know I can trust you. I just don't want to get you involved without need. It's dangerous doing the things I do. I've nearly been caught a handful of times.”

“What about your brother? Ser Carver. Does he know what you do?” Ella asked, averting her gaze and flushing through her dark skin.

“Maker, no!” Philippa chuckled. “Carver would be the first one to turn me in. I didn't grow up with my siblings, so he doesn't feel like he owes me any sort of loyalty.”

“That's a shame. It might be helpful if you could sway a templar,” Ella said thoughtfully.

“That's a risk none of us have been willing to take, it seems...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always hated that Feynril could just leave the Gallows and go to Tevinter whenever he felt, so I made the incident a little more believable. It's a choice that I think works well with the story-line without diverting too far from Feynril's fate.


	14. Death and Dungeons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa is finally brought to Ser Alrik's attention, and tragedy befalls her family.

Philippa remembered Cullen's words from when he had defended her from Marcella, so when Feynril went missing, she made certain she was the first in Cullen's office to report the disappearance. Unfortunately, this time he was not alone. When she barged her way in like she normally did, she interrupted a meeting between him and the dreaded Ser Alrik. After setting her piercing gaze on the bald man, she looked away from him and flipped it to Cullen instead. Cullen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Andraste preserve me... What is it this time, Hawke?”

“Yet again, you have allowed a mage to go missing out from under your nose, Knight-Captain. I would appreciate if you would get on with finding my apprentice before he ends up like Mharen,” she responded in her best agitated tone.

Cullen's brow rose and he fixed his amber stare on her, completely ignoring Ser Alrik in the process. “I'm not even going to ask how you know he's missing... You do realize that if we were to find the boy alive, the Knight-Commander will have no choice but to force the Rite of Tranquility. Your probation has not ended.”

Philippa scoffed. “I'd rather have him tranquil than dead! All they found of Mharen was a sack of bones!” she argued, crossing her arms.

“And what of yourself?” Ser Alrik's voice chimed in with an almost giddy sneer. “Was the boy not under your care?”

Philippa turned a frown on the man, her skin crawling under his scrutiny. “He was my apprentice. I didn't have a leash on him. Isn't that the templars' job? To make sure us dangerous mages can't escape our cells in the middle of the night?” she demanded angrily, her stomach churning at the thought that with this single conversation, she had been put under Ser Alrik's watchful eyes. She had remained blissfully anonymous so far.

Cullen sighed. “Enough.” Both Philippa and Ser Alrik went silent, sparing a glare at each other before both looking back at Cullen. “Enchanter Hawke, I will look into Feynril's disappearance. Once we retrieve his phylactery, I will send a team to track him down. In the meantime, you will go about your duties as usual until we get to the bottom of what's happened.”

Philippa pressed her lips together to hold back the relieved sigh that threatened to escape her. Meredith may have more to say later, but for now, Feynril was free, and she was not being blamed. “Right away,” she said with a nod and backed from his office, Ser Alrik's eyes following her.

From that moment on, everywhere Philippa turned, it seemed like Ser Alrik was just around the corner. His steely blue eyes tracked her wherever she went. It made her evening jaunts far too dangerous. She chanced a letter to Anders in between inspections to warn him away from her for the time being. Since she could no longer get to the rookery without being seen, she discreetly asked Carver to collect the ravens she was receiving from Bethany and Finn on a regular basis.

The stalking finally came to a head a few weeks after Feynril's disappearance. The templars had been hunting him relentlessly to no avail. According to Carver, the phylactery they were tracing led them to a goat farm outside the city. Philippa barely contained her mirth when she realized Anders had found a way to replace the vial of blood with a vial from a goat. Meredith took it upon herself to punish Philippa for the crime, viewing it as breach of her probation. In a massive stroke of luck, the punishment fell short of Philippa being made tranquil (after Cullen surprisingly spoke on her behalf). She was simply tossed in the dungeon for a week. She might not have even minded the punishment if it hadn't put her in reach of the sadistic Ser Alrik.

The very first night she was locked up, at least she believed it was night, (it was difficult to tell in the windowless room), she made herself as comfortable as possible on the stone floor. She had barely had the chance to fall asleep when the jangling of keys and the clank of armor drew her back from the Fade. She blinked against the harsh light of the torch that was suddenly breaking the inky blackness of the cell. She could not see who had entered, but it was obviously a templar. She knew the templars by sound, and the distinct scent of them, the lyrium following them around like the lingering smell of the earth after lightning struck. When the torch light shifted, she sat up immediately, noting the reflection of the light off his bald head. “Am I free to go already?” she asked sarcastically, attempting to mask the fear that twisted her gut. “That was the fastest week I've ever lived through.”

The responding chuckle froze her blood in her veins. “I think I am going to enjoy breaking you. We'll start with your mouth.”

Philippa inhaled a breath as he jerked toward her and grabbed hold of her upper arm. Her stomach sank as the realization that he held all the cards hit her like a charging bronto. She could do nothing. If she fought back, it would end in the brand for her, no matter the outcome. The Gallows was a former prison with extremely thick stone walls. If she screamed, it would do her no good. No one would hear her. She assumed that was why Alrik had bode his time, knowing that he would eventually get his hands on her. In the end, he hadn't needed to do a thing. She'd been thrown into his trap. “Do your worst,” she spat with rage. “I won't break.”

He uttered his spine tingling chuckle again as he drew her closer to him, making her turn her face away from his in disgust. “The longer it takes, the more fun I have, but they always break.”

He drug her to the back of the cell, settling the torch into a wall mount. Old, rusted chains hung from the walls and he expertly strung up her arms, telling her that this was not his first go round in the cells beneath the Gallows. The old metal ground against her skin, opening wounds swiftly each time she shifted even a small amount. She thanked the Maker for her height, making her just tall enough to reach the ground with the balls of her feet so she was not dangling by her wrists. As he drew his sword slowly from it's sheathe, she grunted, trying to remain as still as possible as she balanced on her toes. “Has anyone ever told you how dramatic you are?” she growled as he watched her small struggle. His leer was prominent in the flickering light of the torch, casting shadows across his already menacing expression.

He ignored her remark, fingering the tip of his blade as he paced in front of her. “I've read about you, Philippa Hawke. You make for quite the intriguing bedtime story.”

“So glad I could entertain you,” she snapped, interrupting him.

Again, he ignored her. “Your magic is... particularly disturbing. Yours and that apprentice boy you let slip. I deal in the art of harrowing. My art is much different from that little test they inflict on your kind, deluding themselves that it will make you 'safe'. The truth is, no mage is safe. Given the proper circumstances... the right pressure on a given nerve, all mages can be pushed to the brink. You _all_ have a breaking point.” His eyes caressed up and down her and he grinned threateningly. “The question is, what will it take to drive you to that point? What does Philippa Hawke have to fear?”

She mustered a sliver of courage around the ball of terror in her gut and snorted. “Certainly not you.”

“We'll see about that, won't we?” he taunted. He lifted his sword and twirled it. Philippa attempted to brace herself, remembering back to when Cullen had cast the smite on her by the fireside. There was no bracing yourself. With the flick of his sword, the smite slammed into her chest. All of her mana was ripped from her core, and just as she remembered, her breath left her as well, whooshing from her lungs like she had taken a hit to the gut. A strangled cry left her throat as she sagged, the manacles digging further into her wrists. She could feel Alrik's eyes on her as she struggled to breathe. The second she was able to catch her breath, he threw another smite at her. Her chest felt like it was being crushed and spots appeared in her vision. She didn't even have a voice to cry out that time. Small droplets of blood began to trickle from her wrists as her body sagged under the strain and the rusty manacles dug further into her flesh.

Smite after smite slammed into her body, threatening to relieve her of the burden of consciousness as she was repeatedly deprived of oxygen. Alrik was a professional. He seemed to know exactly how much breath he could allow her between castings to ensure that she remained conscious for the duration. Her chest hurt so badly that she could have sworn that someone had dropped a ton of stone on her, fracturing every single rib she had. She had no control over any of her limbs, unable to get any kind of footing to save her wrists from the manacles. The blood that had started as a trickle was now streaming in rivulets down her forearms. She was leaking from her eyes, nose and mouth, unable to catch her breath long enough to swallow or stop the tearful reaction. After about the twentieth smite, which felt like it could have been the hundredth. Alrik paused in his assault and put his face in hers so their eyes met. She sputtered and coughed, gasping in huge lungfuls of air that came too quickly. Her body reacted, retching and gagging on the air. Bile rose in her throat and she nearly choked as she vomited and sucked in air simultaneously. The hacking soon made her throat raw to the point of agony, the vomit burning down her esophagus and up into her nose. When her fit ended, his eyes remained locked with hers. She swallowed, the simple act agonizing. Then she drew in a ragged breath into her deflated chest and said, “Is... that the... best you've got?”

He grinned as if her defiance was what he had been searching for. “I knew you were going to be a challenge. I'm so glad you haven't disappointed. I have an entire week down here with you. I'm just getting started.”

“Oh, good... I was hoping for more torture,” she croaked around her raw throat.

Alrik stepped back, sheathing his sword and pulling out a small skinning knife. He approached her again and pulled the neckline of her robes away from her skin. Slipping the knife between her flesh and the fabric, he slowly drug it down her front. The gentle whisper of fabric shredding made her cringe. A light breeze brushed over her freshly exposed skin and she flinched as his knife tickled over her lower abdomen. “You know, it's strange. I've never found the human form... attractive. When I look at the flesh of a woman, or a man for that matter, all I see is meat. Good for nothing but carving. I must say, though, you could be described as an attractive woman. Pretty face, pristine, pale skin, curves in the right places. If pain didn't break you, I wonder if vanity could be your undoing. Would you beg for help if I threatened disfigurement?”

The knife tip pressed into her skin just below her navel. She bit back the cry that threatened to escape, hoping that if he garnered no reaction he would move on. Instead, he dragged the knife further along her skin, carving a line in her abdomen, just shallow enough to sting when the air hit it. The blade was so sharp that the cut did not immediately bleed. He had managed two more slow cuts before the blood began to trickle. She pressed her lips together, breathing heavily and swiftly through her nose, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth against the pain. The cuts continued, blazing across her skin in no discernible pattern other than it amused him to place them there. The initial agony of the air across the cuts had dissipated, now all she felt was a burning sensation as they all bled freely.

Finally, Alrik stepped back and chuckled giddily. “I've had mages much older than you turn with the first cut.” He looked her over, admiring his work. “I believe that's enough for tonight,” he mused. “I wouldn't want to spoil my fun by going too fast. Sleep well.”

Alrik left her dangling from the chains, taking the torch from the wall and locking her cell behind him. Philippa forced her feet back beneath her, relieving some of the pressure from her wrists. A few of the cuts on her stomach stung with the movement, and her shoulders protested the angle. If she was smart, she would allow the rest of her mana to coil back in her chest and heal herself, but she refused. She wanted evidence of Alrik's sadism. The entire Circle would know if it was the last thing she did.

Philippa had not had a nightmare in years. Yet on that night, in her weakened state, when her head finally sagged from exhaustion and she fell into the Fade, demons poured from all corners, offering her a reprieve from the suffering. She pushed them all away, drawing on as much of her power as she had in her and pulled herself from the dream. This would not be the reason she accepted the help of a demon. Alrik would not win this war.

She saw no one else during her stay in the cell. Alrik must have planned it so he had full access to her day and night. Knowing Meredith, she had sanctioned the whole thing. Two more nights following the first night of torture, Alrik returned with new and exciting ways to try and chase her into the embrace of a demon. Night number two, he dedicated to fire, sufficiently sapping her of any mana she might have regained with another slew of smites before he got started. Each time he pressed the white hot brand to her skin and removed it, it peeled away a layer of flesh, the sound more irksome than the pain itself. She spent the night after he left shivering from both the burns across her skin and a mild fever that came from the infection setting up in her wrists from the rusty cuts. Again, the demons came, more insistent than before. She dragged herself free, waking with an anguished cry as all of her injuries returned to her attention at once. She cried softly, allowing herself the weakness when he was not there to see it.

The third night, after the smites, he tried a different method. He began to cast a different templar ability, one on top of the other. It was called Wrath of Heaven. Each time he cast it, a brilliant light erupted in the dark cell, blinding her. The headache that lanced though her skull was reminiscent of living in Kinloch Hold after the Veil had been damaged. Even if she closed her eyes, the light still penetrated her lids and stunned her senses. After he left, the pain lingered, her limbs shaking uncontrollably. She could not tell if her infection had worsened, but still her body was chilled. After the abuse of the endless smites, she didn't think her mana would ever return completely. She didn't think she could endure four more nights of whatever torture Alrik could think up. Her body was breaking.

Hours on top of hours passed, Philippa fighting sleep just to stay out of the grasp of the demons she could feel hovering just inside her consciousness, waiting to pounce. On top of everything, she was beginning to feel the hollow emptiness of hunger. When had Alrik last fed her? Her throat was parched, and her lips cracked and dry. She couldn't tell time in the Maker forsaken cell, but she was slowly losing her battle with consciousness. Her head shot up suddenly when a loud clattering sound echoed around the empty dungeon. She looked up to see a torch, and then hung her head again, groaning in agony as she automatically flinched in preparation of another night of endless suffering. When all she heard was the jangling of keys and no smite to accompany them, she looked up again, straining her damaged eyes. A figure rushed into the cell, placing the torch swiftly in the mount and then hurrying to her side. A mumbled oath reached her ears as the figure fumbled with the keys in his hands. “Maker's breath...”

She knew that voice. She knew it, but her slow mind could not properly place it until he shifted into the light and her eyes fell on his face. “Cullen...?” she slurred, unable to hold her head up. Her neck gave way and her head lolled again, her chin touching her collar bone.

“It's all right,” he said gently, his arms reaching up to unlock the manacles. Her arms fell limply when the chains released her, and she immediately felt the prickling agony of blood returning to the useless limbs. Her legs buckled when her weight fell on them, and she thumped against Cullen's solid armor plated chest. “I've got you,” he mumbled, shifting her weight so he could bend and scoop her up in his arms. Her head flopped forward and as he settled her into his arms, he adjusted her so her cheek fell against the cold metal of his cuirass.

They started to move, Cullen pausing long enough to kick something metal from his path just as they passed through the cell door. She swallowed a lump in her throat, praying that her relief was not an illusion of the Fade. At this point, she couldn't tell the difference. “I really hope you're not a demon,” she managed to whisper, huddling closer to him.

His arms twitched and his footing stuttered briefly as he grunted. “Even half dead, you still can't shut up,” he grumbled.

He mind fought unconsciousness still, knowing she needed to tell him what had happened. “Where... Ser Alrik...” as she fought to speak around her tongue which felt too large for her mouth, she released a groan the tingling of her arms intensifying.

Cullen grunted again. “ _He_ did this to you?”

She inhaled heavily before saying, “Yes.”

Another angry grunt escaped Cullen's throat and his arms tightened around her shoulders and legs. “I'm suddenly less annoyed that someone killed him.”

Her head jerked in surprise and then she hissed as they passed from the dungeons into the bright hallway where the last vestiges of the sun still poured in the high windows. Cullen mumbled an apology and turned his body to shield her eyes as he swiftly carried her, she assumed, toward the infirmary. “He's... dead?” she asked, the pause between her words lengthy.

Cullen shifted her weight, lifting her up so she fell against his chest as he used the arm wrapped around her shoulders to twist the handle on the infirmary door and push it open. Then he settled her back before sidestepping them into the familiar space. He laid her on the nearest bed and then flushed as his eyes settled on her and the open front of her robes. He glanced up at her face, pulling off his gloves. “Where do you keep the healing potions?” His bare hand reached hesitantly toward her, hovering just shy of touching before he grimaced and flipped his palm away from her to settle the back of his hand on her forehead. “You're burning up, Hawke. You're our healer. What can I do?”

She frowned. He was asking her? She could barely think. She was not even certain he wasn't a figment of her nightmares. “Infe...” she tried to respond, but the word stuck in her throat. She coughed, gasping for breath. She could still feel the effects of the smites that had been inflicted on her.

Cullen's eyes were wide as she coughed, rolling to her side as she tasted blood. He rushed for some water, returning with a dry cloth and a metal cup full of cool water. He held the cloth beneath her lips as the fit wracked her weakened body. When she managed to catch her breath, he helped her to sit up far enough to sip water from the cup. The water felt like a gift from the Maker as it poured over her tongue. He pulled it away too quickly and she whimpered. “Slowly,” he said gently.

Rather than try and explain, she swallowed the metallic taste that lingered in her throat from the blood she had hacked up and said, “Marcella...”

He drew back his head, his brow cocking questioningly. “Do you think that's wise? As I recall, she's not your biggest fan.”

Philippa mirrored his expression, and lifted a finger to point at him. “Templar?”

Cullen took the single word exactly as she had meant it and snorted. “Right. I'll need to inform Meredith and Orsino as well. Is there...” his hand rose to the back of his neck and he rubbed it nervously. “Did you need anything before I go?” He purposefully looked anywhere but at her partially exposed chest. “A blanket, perhaps?”

Philippa shook her swimming head as she fell back onto the blessedly cool mattress. She was mostly safe if Alrik was truly dead, all she needed was to concentrate on healing. The evidence was all over her and if Cullen's expression could be believed, the damage was extensive. She meant to thank Cullen, but when she opened her heavy lids again, he had gone. With nothing left to prolong her agony, she finally allowed herself to slip into the Fade. She didn't need rescuing by a demon. Cullen had found her. She was going to be okay.

Her memories from the following few weeks were spotty at best. Her strength and mana slowly rebuilt as her body healed with slight nudging from Marcella. The woman was not her biggest fan, as Cullen had pointed out, but she recognized the need to set aside her qualms and be professional. Philippa would have died if Marcella had not magically leeched the worst of the infection from the rusty wounds on her wrists and repaired the internal damage that Alrik had caused by abusing her chest with so many smites. The rest she left up to poultices, healing potions, and Philippa's own natural healing ability.

She spent a lot of time in the Fade as she healed, glad to have an escape from the burning agony of the severe burns and knife cuts as the poultices and potions did their jobs. It took nearly a week before she could breathe properly and even longer for the deeper cuts to close over. Once she was deemed healed enough to properly tell her story, Meredith and Orsino questioned her rather thoroughly, predictably turning the interrogation into a reason to bicker. They both stormed out, and Meredith later sent Cullen back to finish asking her questions. When he entered, Philippa pushed herself into a sitting position, hissing as some of the bandages rubbed her burned flesh. “Oh, good, a visitor.”

“I'm not here to entertain you, Hawke. Meredith wants a full report out from under the scrutiny of the First Enchanter. She thought perhaps you might be more apt to speak with me than herself,” he said stiffly.

Philippa grimaced as she tried to shift her weight and wiped it away for a smirk. “Clearly because your bedside manner is much better than her own.” When he opened his mouth to respond, his expression souring, she flapped her hand. “Oh don't get offended. It was a joke. What does Meredith want to know?”

He exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes, shifting his weight. “Exactly what happened to you in the dungeons?”

“After I was confined to the dungeons, I resigned to spend the next week in the dark, bored and lonely. After dark the first night, at least I believe it was after dark, it's hard to tell down there, Ser Alrik showed up. The first thing he did was chain me to the wall. Then he started going on about how fun it was going to be to break me,” she explained, cringing as his taunting voice floated to the surface of her thoughts.

Cullen was frowning. “What did he want, specifically?”

She picked at the edge of one of her bandages. “I gathered he wanted to know how far he could push me before I turned to a demon for aid. The sadistic bastard was aiming at making me an abomination.”

Cullen sighed heavily. “I knew Ser Alrik was a bit zealous, but I had no idea he was capable of...” his eyes flicked up and down her briefly. “Why didn't you heal yourself? I know you can do that...”

“Every night, the first thing he did was relieve me of my mana. Not just once, but nearly two dozen times, back to back. By the time he finished, I couldn't see straight, my chest felt crushed, and I could barely breathe, let alone even think about casting. Then he would move on to whatever brand of physical torment he could muster. The entire time, he... talked. He compared me to some other poor souls that hadn't survived his little experiments, urged me to give in, gave me hints as to other ideas he had for torturing me.” She stopped, feeling an unbidden tear slip from her eye. She swiftly brushed it away, sniffing and swallowing. “He brought back my nightmares. It was like I was a child again, afraid to go to sleep.”

When she glanced up at him, Cullen was watching her with something akin to curiosity. It took him a moment to close his mouth and clear his throat. “Believe it or not, I know the feeling... For you to have withstood such torment with your wits intact...” In lieu of finishing his thought, he glanced away from her and flushed lightly. “Meredith wished me to ask, if given the chance, would you have used magic to harm Ser Alrik?”

Philippa felt laughter bubble up in her mouth. She let it out in a harsh guffaw. “Magic? No. Given the chance, I would have murdered the bastard with my bare hands,” she said truthfully.

Cullen returned to his frown. “Well let's count you lucky that he was killed before you got the chance.”

Philippa sucked in a breath. “I've been meaning to ask. What exactly happened? How was he killed?”

Cullen pressed his lips together. “Of course. You weren't told...”

“Told what?” she asked suspiciously.

He looked her over again and sighed, as if she really wasn't supposed to know what he was about to tell her. “On the fourth night of your confinement, it was brought to our attention around midnight that your roommate had gone missing. Ser Alrik was put in charge of finding her. He tracked her to a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the Gallows. I was not present for the encounter, and in fact did not even hear about it until evening the following day. From what I understand not much more than a charred corpse remained of Ser Alrik when he was found. Ella was nowhere to be seen and her phylactery had been removed from Alrik's body. I'm willing to assume she had outside help, but I cannot prove it.”

Philippa scowled, hatred like she had never felt rising in her gut. Her voice came out strained and gruff. “I hope he felt every inch of his flesh burning from his body.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “You should rest, Hawke. Thank you for the report.”

“Thank _you_ ,” she said pointedly before he could turn from her. “For remembering me down there.”

One of Cullen's brief smiles flickered across his face, lifting the right side of his mouth for an instant before he stifled it. “What sort of Knight-Captain would I be if I allowed my best informant to starve in the dungeons?”

“Oh, get out,” she said, rolling her eyes and shooing him. “You try to show gratitude and you get sassed.”

“At least you know how it feels, now,” he returned before slipping from the infirmary.

Her arms and torso were peppered in scars that would likely never heal. After all of the poultices had been removed and Marcella had declared her healthy, Philippa had been left alone to clean up and dress. She stared at herself in the looking glass, mourning the loss of her previously unmarred skin. She sponged herself clean and then quickly dressed, not wanting to look at the marks any longer. All it did was make her bitter against a man that was no longer alive to care (not that he actually would). She made her way to the dining hall, determined to not show any weakness after her ordeal.

Much like when she had first arrived in the Gallows, the hushed whispers of the other mages in the hall rose almost imperceptibly as she walked with her back stiff toward the serving tables. She could feel all of their eyes on her as everyone talked about the victim that had escaped. She maintained her air of strength as she sat at her usual table and went about stuffing food down that tasted like ash. She was pushing around her pile of peas with her fork when a shadow fell over her. She nearly jumped, noticing the templar armor. When she looked up, Carver was standing beside her with his own tray. “I know I'm really not supposed to eat with our charges, but right now, you're not my charge, your my sister. Can I join you, Phil?”

She stared up in awe at her usually professional brother and a flutter of relief washed over her. “Of course, Carver.”

He smiled and set his tray down on the table before awkwardly situating himself on the long bench across from hers. He picked up a spoon and started to stir the film from the top of his stew. “I'm not going to ask you about what happened, because the Knight-Captain already painted me a picture. I guess I just wanted to ask... are you all right?” His blue eyes studied her face, likely reading every emotion that flickered over her expression. He had grown up with Garrett and Anders was constantly telling her how much her twin reminded him of her.

“Not really,” she said truthfully. “But I will be. I just need some time to get out of my own head and back into a routine.”

“Well, if there's anything you need...” he groaned. “Beth is so much better at this kind of thing. If you need anything, I'm here.”

She smiled at him, the first genuine smile she had been able to muster since she had been sent to the dungeons. “Thank you, Carver. I appreciate it.”

He kept her company while she ate, not really having much to say in regards to anything they might have in common, but telling her some stories about growing up with Garrett and their parents. In spite of having been confined to a bed for the last few weeks, she was still exhausted and yearned for her own familiar mattress. She excused herself after her meal was finished, and shuffled to her room, expecting it to be empty after Ella's disappearance. After stepping inside, she closed the door behind her, her exhaustion making way for a small throbbing in her forehead. “You must be Phil.” She started, jumping and her recently restored mana erupting in her palms. When she spun, a woman was standing in the middle of the room, a slightly startled expression of her own on her face. She held her hands up, palms forward in a harmless gesture. “Whoa. I'm sorry. I should have expected you'd be jumpy after what you went through.”

Philippa slowly drew her mana back into her chest and swallowed her racing heart. “I don't believe we've met...”

“Right, sorry. I'm Grace,” the woman said, lowering her hands slowly.

Philippa took a moment to look her over. She had brown hair layered off her face in the front and pulled into a loose tail in the back. Over her right eye and down the side of her left cheek were light purple tattoos. Her eyes themselves were a steely grey. “Forgive my manners, but I've never seen you around the Gallows before.” Philippa was certain she knew everyone at least by sight.

Grace's expression went sour. “No. You wouldn't have. I arrived just after you were discovered in the dungeons. I was one of the mages that escaped the templars on the way from Starkhaven.”

Philippa's eyes widened. “We thought they were all killed,” she gasped.

Grace huffed, crossing her arms. “That might have been preferable to being chased relentlessly through the mountains and the coast until I was captured and stuffed back in a cage.”

Philippa hummed in sympathy. “I apologize if I'm terrible company for the evening,” she offered. “If you heard what happened, I'm sure you understand I still find myself a bit out of sorts.”

“The templars are a menace,” Grace said angrily. “I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted once you're feeling better.”

After a few nights of uninterrupted sleep and some time to adjust to getting back into a routine that both involved not looking over her shulder for Alrik and not having to tutor Feynril, Philippa was starting to feel more like herself. Grace had a particular aura about her that kept Philippa from fully trusting her, but she was friendly enough until any talk of the templars came up. The woman ingratiated herself flawlessly within the Circle. In spite of her blatant hatred for the templars, Philippa had caught her on more than one occasion whispering with a few of the recruits as well as some of the more seasoned templars like Ser Thrask. Philippa was curious, but not quite curious enough to point out that she had noticed.

With the loss of the secret of the lyrium tunnels, the underground was having trouble with conducting their business inside the Circle. Philippa managed to get a few letters out to Anders via the same method she used to contact Bethany and Finn. If she didn't know better, she would have called his responses distracted. Would Justice even allow him to be distracted from his mission? He had been unusually lacking in opinion when she had told him of her run in with Alrik, and she found out from Garrett that it was because they had been the ones in the tunnel that night that had fried the bastard alive. Apparently, Justice had nearly turned on Ella and without Garrett's interference would have killed her right alongside the templars. When Garrett heard what she had gone through under Alrik's care, he had ground his teeth together and balled his fists, his eyes going distant. She saw him accepting that he had once again not been there to protect her and he uttered a curse that would have made their mother blush.

It seemed that Philippa as not allowed a sense of normalcy. Mere months after she had recovered, she and Carver were once again called to the First Enchanter's office. When she arrived, she was surprised to see Garrett standing in the back corner of the office, his face ashen and his expression purposefully blank. His hair looked scruffier than usual and his beard looked like it hadn't been tended in days. Before she could even ask, Orsino pushed up from his chair and said softly, “I will leave you three alone.”

He slipped from is own office and Philippa felt her stomach clench as she whipped her head around to look at Garrett. “What's the matter, Garrett?”

He started at the sound of her voice, a sheen of un-shed tears glistening in his eyes as they shifted to look at her. He then lowered his gaze before looking deliberately at Carver and finally speaking. “Do you remember that killer a few years back that we tracked to the foundry?”

Carver's eyes narrowed. “Where we found that sack of bones?”

“Mharen?” Philippa interjected, her stomach knotting even further.

“That's the one,” Garrett agreed in a tone that was meant to be deceptively mirthful but came out forced and broken. “It was brought to my attention that the templar we aided had continued the investigation after our dead end. My investigation was... halfhearted at best, meant to simply get Emeric to stop pestering Aveline. Turns out...” Garrett's voice cracked and he stopped talking, swallowing heavily, his breathing picking up it's pace as he fought to reign in his emotions. Philippa crossed the room and took his hands. He drew her against him, hugging her tightly. He wouldn't let her go, his chin resting on the top of her head as he calmed enough to speak again. After I questioned the man who Emeric had named his main suspect, I returned to the Gallows to give Emeric my report. When he wasn't here, I followed a note he had received that was supposed to be from me. He was dead when I got to him, killed by demons.”

Carver stood from where he was sitting and scowled. “What does this have to do with us and why are you so upset?”

“I'm trying to explain...” Garrett began, his voice getting gruffer.

“I don't want an explanation. Tell me why we're here, Garrett!” Carver demanded.

He tensed in her arms and she could feel his heart through his tunic, speeding up. “The killer. He took Mother. She's gone!” Garrett blurted, flinching as he nearly shouted the last words.

Silence fell on the room as Philippa felt her stomach sink. It was a similar surreal feeling to when she had heard about their father's death, but somehow, it was worse, as if sharing the grief with her siblings made it more real. Finally, Carver spoke, his voice choked. “You're lying.”

Garrett sighed heavily, hugging Philippa tighter to him again. “She died in my arms, Carver. I was too late to save her.”

Philippa turned her head into Garrett's shoulder and felt her own shoulders shudder as tears began to fall from her eyes. All of the times she had done things as a child and thought about how disappointed her mother would be in her manners washed across her memory, driving home a strange sort of guilt. She almost wished she had allowed Garrett to tell their mother that she was in the Gallows. Perhaps she could have seen her again before she was taken from them. Suddenly, she drew back from Garrett and looked up at him with shimmering eyes. “Does Bethany know?”

Garrett looked away. “I haven't contacted her. I don't think this is the kind of thing that should be done with a letter, but I don't know how else to...”

“I can reach her...” Philippa blurted.

Garrett frowned. “You mean your dream-walking thing?”

Philippa nodded, brushing her cheeks free of tears. “I've reached Bethany before... right after she became a Warden. And we've been writing. Coming from me, it might be better than a letter.”

Garrett looked her over slowly and then nodded. “You're right.”

Philippa bedded down that night, clutching Bethany's stuffed animal. Finding her sister was much easier this time around. She felt closer. When she made her way into Bethany's dream, she stood in the courtyard of a stone keep, larger than she had ever seen outside the Gallows. Shimmering images of soldiers clad in bright silverite armor sparring in a ring hovered nearby. Philippa sought Bethany, following the more solid images that were likely to congregate around the subject. She heard her sister laughing and her heart lurched at having to break her from the happy dream to tell her that their mother had been murdered. She followed the laughter and found her with a bow in her hands, a dark haired man standing rather more closely than he needed to as he straightened her form. They both chuckled and his face nuzzled closer to her neck. Philippa flushed and swiftly took control of the dream, gently nudging Bethany's consciousness so she would join her. The man's image and the bow in Bethany's hands disappeared. She looked around with a frown until she spotted Philippa standing not far away. “Phil? What are you doing here?”

Philippa smiled. “I'm sorry to interrupt your dream. Was that the famous Nathaniel you can't stop talking about?”

It was Bethany's turn to blush, her cheeks going crimson. “Maker... you saw that, did you? You arrived just in time. I've had this dream before... It gets...” she stopped talking, clearing her throat and blushing even harder.

Philippa smiled halfheartedly. “Listen, Beth, I wish I were here on a social call, but I have some news from home that shouldn't be delivered via letter.”

Bethany's eyes widened. “Maker, are Garrett and Carver all right? Garrett gets himself into so much trouble...”

Philippa shook her head and took Bethany's hands. “Our brothers are fine. It's Mother...”

Bethany's expression fell. “Oh,” she said softly. She took a moment to absorb the information and then looked up at Philippa with big eyes. “What happened?”

Philippa cringed. “Garrett was slim on details, but apparently he was there when she died. She was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Bethany gasped, her already wide eyes bulging.

Philippa nodded. “I really don't know much else. You would need to ask Garrett if you want details. I just thought you should hear about this in person... or, well, in spirit...”

Bethany's lips crooked in a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “I am glad you thought of me... Again. I wish I could be there for you and the boys.”

“We'll manage,” Philippa shrugged lightly. “You're the one who's all alone.”

Bethany continued to smile. “I have Nathaniel. And our cousin stops in from time to time when we're at Vigil's Keep. We're in the Free Marches right now, but I can't say anything more about our mission.”

“As long as you're safe,” Philippa said, squeezing Bethany's hands that she was still holding. “We can't lose any more Hawkes.”

Bethany pulled Philippa into a hug. “You keep yourself safe as well. Try not to get on anymore templars' bad sides.”

Philippa chuckled lightly. “I live to annoy.”

Bethany's soft giggle joined hers. “Good night, sister.”


	15. A Trip to the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa is allowed to leave the Gallows, but not for the reason she would have liked.

In spite of her twin brother being in the loop of just about everything going on in the city of Kirkwall, Philippa was dangerously short on news from the outside. After their Mother's death, he had gone silent for months, neither Carver nor herself hearing from him other than to say he was still alive.

Inside the Circle, however, things were heating up. New factions inside both the templar ranks and the mage population seemed to be cropping up in every nook and cranny. Where Meredith and Orsino had at least partially tolerated each other when she had first arrived, in the years she had been there, that distaste had soured into outright malevolence. They were at each other's throats constantly. Philippa did her best to stay our from under their feet, only speaking up when something particularly unjust caught her attention. With Feynril's disappearance and Ser Alrik's death, Philippa had slipped back into her previous level of anonymity, coming and going as she pleased without too much attention on her and her day to day.

She had been in Kirkwall nearly six years already. She couldn't believe how swiftly time seemed to have gone by. Her life had certainly gotten much more interesting since leaving Kinloch Hold. She was out in the courtyard one Saturday afternoon doing her usual rounds among the shops when the entire place erupted in chaos. Her attention was drawn by surprised shouts out towards the docks. She turned to see what she could see, and spotted a cluster of people running from the docks, terrified looks on their faces. Moving in behind them, came a group of massive horned soldiers clad in little more than pauldrons on most of their shoulders. Their sheer size and grey skin told her they were Qunari, even though she had never seem one in person before. The huge swords and throwing spears they carried, already coated in blood, were effectively corralling the people in the courtyard. Philippa had to think fast. Her instincts from years of battle magic training kicked in. She rushed toward the center of the courtyard where the templars were beginning to gather to meet the approaching threat. She stopped ahead of the templars, waiting until all of the straggling civilians had rushed past her and threw her arms upwards. She crossed them in an X, calling her mana to her hands and then as she shifted her fingers in a precise pattern, uncrossed her arms, palms forward and erected a barrier between the templars and the Qunari.

A voice called her name. “Hawke!”

She glanced over her shoulder, her teeth gritted with the strain of keeping the barrier in place as the Qunari began to assault it. She met Cullen's amber eyes and growled. “Get the innocents to safety... Everyone inside the Gallows!” she yelled so everyone could hear her. “Knight-Captain, get me some bloody back-up. I can't hold them forever.”

She returned her full attention to holding the barrier steady as Cullen's voice receded in the din happening around them. “Templars! Guard Enchanter Hawke's back. If the barrier falls before I return, defend the Circle and get her the void out of there!”

With the influx of civilians inside the Gallows, the call to arms was swift. Within minutes, a hand fell on Philippa's shoulder, lending her strength to hold the barrier until the templars and a small unit of mages gathered behind her to fight the Qunari. Philippa waited to hear the order. When she dropped the barrier, she not only dropped it, but drew in some of the excess energy and thrust it forward to knock the Qunari back a few paces so she could dip behind the templars and regain some mana so she could help fight.

The complement of Qunari that had arrived at the Gallows was small. It was likely they had not expected much of a fight from them. Everywhere she turned, Qunari clashed with the templars and their swords. She had not truly seen templars in action before. Usually, they were just as bored as all of the mages, standing around yawning. She had to admit that their skills were impressive. Slowly, the templars and five or six mages beat back the Qunari.

When the last of the horned warriors fell, Meredith found her way to the front of the line and shouted. “If the Qunari have attacked the Gallows, they will have fanned out across the entire city. We must defend the people. Orsino, gather your best fighters. I give you sanction to fight.”

Orsino glanced warily at Meredith but said, “Very well. I will gather those I can.”

As he turned back to the Gallows, Philippa followed on his heels. “First Enchanter...”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, but continued moving. “Fetch your staff, Phil. I believe you finally have your chance to use your skills.”

As she jogged past Orsino, she smirked. “Meredith wants your best... as much as she doesn't want me, she's getting me.”

Philippa made her way to her room and grabbed up the staff that she was convinced was going to rot in the corner she had propped it in. Twirling it between her fingers, she grinned as it hummed with power as if it were glad to be handled after so long. She rushed back to the courtyard where a group of tranquil were handing out vials of lyrium to the mages that were filtering out from the Gallows. The young man that she remembered from her first year in Kirkwall that had been made tranquil for allowing Ser Samson to pass notes back and forth between him and his lover, Maddox, handed her a pair of vials. She thanked him with a nod and slipped the stoppered vials into the pouch that hung from the front of her belt.

Before long, the mixed group of mages and templars set forth on the ferry toward the city proper. Philippa buzzed with excitement. Not only was she going to be allowed to fight, but she was going to finally get to see the city up close. Six whole years and she had never left the Gallows. As they disembarked at the docks, the sounds of fighting and shouts reached their ears. Smoke clouded the streets, indicating fires throughout the city. Blood and corpses, mostly human, littered the streets surrounding the docks. Meredith glanced around herself at the destruction. “The Qunari 'stronghold' was there, just past that warehouse on the right. It seems they've cleared out to assault the city. Orsino, take your people through the Foundry district and I will sweep the alienage. We will meet back up in the market district to head into Hightown.”

“As you wish, Meredith,” Orsino said curtly before waving the mages to follow him.

Philippa was near the front of the group, her staff already clutched in her hands and ready for anything. They climbed a tall staircase from the docks to Lowtown where Orsino took a left. He seemed to know the city well, and she assumed that the First Enchanter would have more personal freedoms than the other mages of the Gallows. The group that followed them was small, consisting of no more than seven mages. She didn't know any of them personally, only having seen them in passing. Most of the other mages avoided her like she carried the plague. She had learned to take comfort in simply being alone. All around them, there were makeshift barricades burning across alleyways and blocking off districts. The air was acrid, smelling of the smoke and ash from the fires mixed with the metallic scent of blood and sour scent of piss and shit. The Qunari were massacring the city. What reason could they have for attacking innocents? The sight enraged Philippa. She had never truly seen war before. No matter the reason, there was no excuse for slaughtering an entire city.

They ran into their first group of Qunari as they passed what looked to be a factory front. Orsino displayed the reason he was First Enchanter when he drew his staff and hurled a massive fireball from the end of it, that exploded in a plume of smoke and flames in front of the Qunari. The stunned oxmen stumbled back much like the ones had when she had shoved the energy from her barrier at them back in the Gallows. Philippa twirled her own staff, dancing her fingers along the shaft in an intricate gesture that painted a glyph into the wood. When she slammed the end of it on the ground, the glyph shot from the staff, across the gap and hummed with power. Once a few of the Qunari had stumbled onto the glyph, she snapped her hand back towards her body, activating the crackling energy stored in the glyph. It sparked and a bolt of lightning leapt through all three of the Qunari. Their bodies seized as the electricity shocked through them. She watched them lose control of their limbs and fall to the ground. Remembering back to her childhood when she had smashed a table with a minuscule spell, she performed the same spell, making room for her footwork and the twirling of her staff. When she pulled the sky down with her fist, her magic smashed the incapacitated Qunari into a pulp. The rest of the mages had engaged with the rest of the group, magic crackling on the air and making the hairs on her arms and neck stand at attention.

After assessing the damage taken when the last of the Qunari fell, Philippa deemed them fit to move on, and they continued forward. As they followed the city around in a half circle, they passed an establishment that seemed to stand out from the rest. The shabby sign over the door read 'The Hanged Man', and there was an over sized dummy hanging upside down from his ankle on a rope extended outwards on a pole from the second floor. Philippa silently wished she could have seen the city when it wasn't mostly on fire.

They met back up with Meredith, briefly before heading from Lowtown into the market district of what was known as Hightown. Meredith sent Orsino and the mages ahead toward the red lantern district and beyond to the courtyard below the stairs that Orsino told her would lead them up into the Viscount's Keep. Spread out in the courtyard was a much larger compliment of Qunari than they had yet encountered. “They have a mage,” she pointed out, feeling the magic that surrounded the Qunari mage before they even stepped foot into the space from the red lantern district.

“We must be careful. Qunari 'saarebas' are nothing to scoff at. Their magic is extremely powerful,” Orsino warned, glancing at each of their people in turn. With nods from all around, he pressed his lips together. “Phil, I want you to engage the saarebas. You'll know it when you see it. They keep their mages collared. Distract it so the rest of us can take out the others. It may take a moment with them spread out so far.”

She nodded her agreement and readied her magic, drawing a barrier around herself to protect against whatever the mage might throw at her. They stepped out into the courtyard as a group, Philippa's eyes darting around the space to hone in on the mage. She spotted it across the field, a small square garden between her and her prize. Before she was spotted, she Fade stepped across the courtyard, past the garden, leaving a trail of ice in her wake. She landed in front of the mage and took in the sight of him as he noticed her. A thick metal collar nearly a foot wide rested on his shoulders, held on by chains with links as thick as her fingers. His horns had been sawed off, nearly to his scalp and his lips sewn shut. Over his eyes was a thick golden mask with little more than pinpricks for him to see through. A momentary pang of sympathy washed over Philippa, giving her pause. If she thought being a mage in Kirkwall was hard, it was nothing compared to being a mage under the Qun. She couldn't imagine going through life bound gagged and blinded. She lowered her guard as the mage stared her down. Then he raised his hands and magic flared around him. Realizing her sympathy was not going to win her friends, she interrupted his spell with her own, dispelling whatever he had prepared. Then she drew her mana from her core, twisting it through the head of her staff and pushing the fireball toward the mage. It struck his barrier, sizzling as the magic absorbed it, protecting him from being harmed.

As she and the saarebas flung magic back and forth at each other, whittling down their barriers, she could hear the others around them, fighting. Shouts of alarm rang through the courtyard. Orsino's voice finally rang above them all, calling a retreat. Philippa took her eyes off the mage for a moment to look around. She saw the others, turning to run, only to be impaled by the pursuing Qunari. Orsino was stopped by a sword wielding warrior. Instead of fleeing, he spun and engaged the Qunari. In Philippa's distraction, the mage built up a spell, hurling at her with force. The spirit bolt slammed into her barrier and she stumbled backwards, her barrier finally giving way with the powerful spell. She heard a commotion from the direction of the market district and caught a glimpse of a small group of people entering the fray. She cast as quickly as she could, interrupting the saarebas' casting as often as possible while she recharged her barrier. He started toward her, realizing what she was doing, and she took another tactical step back, understanding that he could still likely crush her with his bare hands if it came down to it. She twirled her staff and dropped the head to the ground, arching it between them. Along the arc, jagged shards of ice shot up from the ground, blocking him from getting to her.

Her attention narrowed to the foe before her, shutting out the ruckus of the rest of the battle. The saarebas was trying to smash through her ice wall as she attempted to regain some of her mana with a lyrium potion. She popped the cork, but just before the vial reached her lips, a blast of pain slammed into her back. She lurched forward with the momentum of the projectile. The vial of lyrium fell from her suddenly numb fingers to shatter on the ground at her feet, her staff clattering after it. It was suddenly difficult to draw breath and metallic taste pooled on her tongue. She fell forward onto her knees. When her head drooped, she noticed the bloody tip of a Qunari spear sticking nearly a foot out from her gut. She drew in a haggard breath and found herself chuckling hysterically. “Well, that isn't good.”

The world spun around her and she tipped onto her side, the cold stone ground reaching up to greet her with a harsh smack. She watched the saarebas smash through the ice wall with a burst of physical magic as a pitched ringing sound settled into her ears, blocking out all other sound besides the creeping beat of her own heart. A figure rushed past her, faster than lightning, leaping at the saarebas while a shout penetrated her muffled hearing as her hand reached for her staff. Her reach was short, but someone dropped down beside her. She struggled to focus, recognizing a familiar pair of honey colored eyes. She wheezed in another breath as his hands fell over her bloody abdomen. The breath she drew in caught in her throat, the blood in her mouth choking her. She coughed, fresh agony drawing a sharpness back to her and she was able to put a name to the eyes. Anders. “Stay with me, Phil!” he ordered, looking over her injury. He glanced up at someone behind her. “Can you snap this tip off so I can get the shaft out?”

A woman with a halo of red hair held back with a woven band over her forehead dropped her shield to the ground as she circled Philippa. Anders shifted out of her way, and she gripped the spear tip in both hands. With a grunt, she cracked the tip of the spear off and tossed it aside. Anders' magic swirled up around him and the woman moved behind Philippa again. Anders nodded, his hands hovering just over the broken end of the spear. The wooden shaft was yanked unceremoniously out her back and Anders' hands fell over the now open wound as warm moisture spread out to pool beneath her. She felt every inch of the shaft dragging through her insides and a whimpering cry escaped her lips. Anders mumbled under his breath, his eyes wide as he attempted to hold her guts in place while he healed. She could feel Anders' magic, stitching through her marred flesh, she could feel Justice alongside him, amplifying his mana so he would have enough, and she felt the spirit he called to his side to lend even further assistance. Her eyelids fluttered as her senses flew into overload. The metallic taste of her own blood on her tongue, the feel of Anders' hands pressed to her stomach, the sound of her own ragged breathing accompanied by shuffling, clattering and a body hitting the ground beside her, the scent of blood and leather and a hint of petrichor from the spilled lyrium, her eyes caught glimpses of what was happening around her in between the spots of black and flashes of white that accompanied the jolts of agony that shot through her. It was all too much at once. Her consciousness flickered and glimpses of the Fade interrupted the real world.

She woke up alone. The shimmering, broken world around her familiar, even in it's strangeness. Her head pounded in time with her beating heart, much stronger than it had been moments before Anders had gotten his hands on her. The source of her migraine slithered into view. She recognized it immediately. “You,” she growled, attempting to call on her depleted mana and finding herself lacking.

“The last time we met, you didn't bother to learn my name before chasing me from my prize. Call me Torpor,” the demon hummed.

“I don't care what your name is,” Philippa said threateningly.

“So rude. We will have much better manners once we have joined,” Torpor said confidently.

“You're insane if you think I'm just going to let you take my body for a ride,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

“But you are so very hurt. It would be nothing for me to climb inside. Effortless...” it said with a hiss.

As the demon approached her slowly, Philippa panicked, falling back on an old tried and true method, grabbing a small bit of her own flesh between her fingers an pinching hard. With a massive amount of luck, it worked. She lurched up off the ground, crying out and then feeling a fresh wash of agony pulse from her gut. “Hold her still. Her wound isn't healed!” Anders said with a grunt.

“Lyrium,” she gasped, writhing as his magic still sparked through her and a pair of strong arms landed on her shoulders, pushing her back to the ground. She groaned, feeling the world trying to close off around her again. She fought against the call of the Fade.

“There's a vial in my belt pouch, Hawke... Phil, hold still so he can let go...” Anders' voice was strained and when she looked at his face, color was leeching from his cheeks quickly.

“Move over,” the red headed woman said in a soft Ferelden accent.

Her hands fell on Philippa's right shoulder as Garrett shifted to lay a single hand on her left and his free hand fiddled around Anders' belt. When it reappeared, there was a small vial of lyrium between his fingers. Anders sniggered lightly through the strain and glanced at Garrett. “Don't think I don't know you could have pick-pocketed me without me even feeling it...”

As Garrett bit the cork out of the vial and spat it on the ground, he grinned. “You act like I didn't want you to feel it.” His tone was teasing as he tipped the lyrium into Philippa's mouth. The heady metallic taste was almost non-existant as it mixed with the coppery taste of blood that still lingered on her tongue.

Anders glanced at Garrett, his concentration on the task of healing her not wavering for an instant. She could already feel the lyrium working to replenish her mana, just in case she slipped into the Fade again. Now she could defend herself against Torpor. Anders' brow rose with his mouth in a devious smirk. “Your twin sister is lying in a pool of her own blood and you take the time to cop a feel?”

Garrett continued to smirk. “I know you aren't about to let her die. Besides, Anders, love, the world could be falling down around our ears and I would take the time to cop a feel.”

She felt herself fading again as the red head protested the banter between her brother and Anders. When she slipped into the Fade, Torpor was waiting. She immediately called forth her replenished mana. “Must you fight?” the demon complained lazily.

She shook her head. “I made the mistake of letting you go already. I should have known it would bite me in the ass. I'm not going to fight you. I'm going to kill you.”

Torpor lunged for her and she swiped her arm before her, unleashing a burst of energy that knocked it back. Then she drew her palms together, pushing them forward, thumbs together as she crooked her pinkies downwards. Short projectiles of ice shot from her hands, lodging in Torpor's chest. She manipulated the ice, pushing it further into him before dropping to the ground as he writhed. She traced out a glyph that she pushed beneath him and then stood, pulling the magic from the glyph upwards as she rose. She closed her fist and the crushing prison tightened around the demon. For added assurance, she cupped her hands together and sparked a fireball between them. She drew her fingers apart until the fireball was larger than her own head and then directed it inside the closing walls of magic around Torpor. The demon shrieked in agony as the flames ate through it and her magic crushed it's crumbling remains into ash.

She dropped her arms to her sides, breathing heavily from the added exertion of the fight coupled with the healing that was happening to her physical body. She dropped onto the ground, focusing on the real world and reached for the anchor of Anders' magic. She pulled herself back into her body just as he pulled his hands away from her and slumped. Garrett's hands left her shoulder to catch Anders before he dropped. “Whoa, there...” he said as softly as his gruff voice could get.

The red head's hands also slipped from Philippa's shoulder and Philippa reached fer her own freshly closed wound. She felt the solid skin, still tender. It would be like that for some time. Magical healing, even spirit healing was merely a life saving band-aid. Her body would need to do some healing on it's own. As she rolled onto her side with a grunt, hands fell on her back. “Are you all right, Phil?”

She glanced around at Orsino as he helped her to sit up, both relief and sadness warring for dominance over his expression. “Good as slightly used,” she quipped, accepting another vial that was handed to her by Garrett's dwarven friend. This one was filled with a red potion. One sniff told her it was elfroot, and she downed it, grateful for the additional assistance in healing. “What of the others?”

Anders was sagged against Garrett's chest, her brother's fingers running lightly through his hair. Philippa twisted slightly to grab her staff from the ground for some added focus and grunted with the effort as her insides complained at the movement. Orsino picked up the staff and put it in her hands. After taking the lyrium, she had plenty of mana to spare, so she cast a rejuvenation spell, aiming it towards Anders. He cringed only slightly at the abrupt return of mana before perking up. Orsino addressed her question as Anders sent a thankful smile in her direction. “The others were all killed. If not for your brother's intervention, we would both have perished with them.”

“I think there are enough corpses on my doorstep,” Garrett grumbled, patting Anders' shoulder with a questioning look before accepting Anders' nod of reassurance and getting up off the ground, helping the other man to stand. “Orana is going to have a terrible time scrubbing the bloodstains from the welcome mat.”

“Not now, Hawke,” the red head said grumpily.

Before Garrett could respond, Orsino was helping Philippa to her feet, and Meredith's voice interrupted. “First Enchanter Orsino, you survive."

"Your relief overwhelms me, Knight-Commander," Orsino said sarcastically as he turned his attention to the group of templars that were conveniently late to the battle.

Meredith scoffed. "There is no time for talk. We must strike back before it's too late."

Orsino crossed his arms. "And who will lead us into this battle? You?" His tone was angry. It seemed he was doing the same math as Philippa. Would Meredith actually hold her templars back in hopes of eliminating the Circle's best mages?

"I will fight to defend this city as I have always done!" Meredith nodded, her fists clenching.

"To control it, you mean! I won't have our lives tossed to the flames to feed your vanity!" Orsino corrected snidely.

This was getting them nowhere. It seemed that Garrett felt the same because he left Anders' side and stepped between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter. "I won't have you two at each other's throats! _I'm_ in charge."

"You?" Meredith balked, as if no one had ever had the balls to suggest she listen to orders. "You're not even of this city!"

"Neither am I," Orsino reminded her. "Yet I don't hear you complaining about us both fighting to defend our home."

"Very well then," Meredith said grudgingly, glancing between Orsino and Garrett with narrowed eyes. "But whatever you plan, be quick about it."

"Tell us then," Orsino asked. "What is our course of action?"

Garrett took a step back and shrugged jokingly. His answer made Philippa think he was surprised that they had both agreed to his demand so easily. "I take it running for the hills isn't an option?" When Meredith narrowed her eyes and shook her head sharply, obviously not amused with Garrett's joke, he dropped his grin and said, "Or we could find out what they're up to. That works, too."

Meredith's expression softened. "An excellent choice. Let's move quickly."

They all headed up to the top of the first set of stairs to the Keep where the entryway narrowed into two archways before opening back up to the final set of stairs. Philippa was feeling the strain of the continuing healing happening in her gut as her brother's red headed friend peered around the wall to get a look at the doors of the Keep. Garrett looked out as well, over her head and Orsino hovered nearby, his own eyes studying the group of Qunari assembled outside the doors.

"There seem to be a great many Qunari at the Keep's entrance," Orsino said in a hushed tone, moving back behind the wall before he was spotted.

"Then they've already taken it over," Meredith grumbled. "Clearly they've been planning this for some time."

"I don't see any of my guardsmen," the red head said worriedly.

"This is the only way in," Meredith pointed out. "We must assault them now before their numbers grow."

Orsino's eyes bugged out. "Are you mad? They have hostages! We need a distraction."

Meredith and Orsino turned to Garrett and Meredith narrowed her eyes. "Decide quickly. We have no time."

Garrett's eyes flicked back and forth between Meredith and Orsino who were both looking at him with skepticism. When his brown eyes landed on her as she hugged her sore stomach, she shrugged and slightly tipped her head toward Orsino. Garrett nodded his head imperceptibly and swiftly said, "Let's hear what you have in mind, Orsino."

He offered a soft smile before saying, "We'll need to get you inside and catch up as soon as we can."

"And just how will we do this?" Meredith asked skeptically as Orsino drew his staff and twirled it expertly as he passed by them toward the archways.

"Have confidence, Knight-Commander," he smirked. Garrett slipped through the archways and back into the shadows of the pillars along the Viscount's Way, as it was called. His companions followed.

Orsino made a spectacle of himself, drawing the Qunari's attention in a spectacular light show before throwing a few large fireballs in their direction and roasting more than one of the threats before retreating back to them with the Qunari in tow. Philippa drew lightly on her reserves, painting a boundary on the ground between the archways. As Orsino passed beneath them, she slipped mana into the primed magic and lifted her hands with effort, the muscles of her stomach complaining. Flames burst from the ground in a wall that charred the first line of Qunari and stopped the others briefly from following so Meredith and the rest of the templars could get into position at the bottom of the steps.

With her and Orsino lending magical assistance, the templars led the Qunari further and further from the Keep, slowly cutting them down without losing any of their own. Philippa caught a glimpse of one of her brother's other friends, the sultry dusky skinned woman that had called her pretty. She was making her way toward the Keep with a heavy looking tome clutched under her arm. She disappeared into the shadows when she got near the fighting, avoiding the Qunari and their spears. They were soon joined by another one of Garrett's friends, the grumpy elf with the impossible tattoos. He and another man rushed into the fray from a side street across the courtyard from the red lantern district. The man she didn't recognize wore dazzling white armor and carried an intricately crafted bow. His skin was tanned lightly and his brown hair had highlights of red through out it. His eyes reminded her of Solona's, aqua in color, leaning closer to blue where hers had been more green. He swiftly sniped half a dozen Qunari as the elf charged into the middle of the pack, his markings activating just like they had in the Fade, turning him into a streaking blue wraith that cut down everything in his path.

When the last of the Qunari fell, Meredith made a beeline for Orsino. Philippa hung back, pressing her hand over her aching stomach and leaning on her staff. The elf approached her with a scowl. “Where's Hawke?” he asked her curtly in his gravely tone.

Before she could answer, Carver jogged up to them. “Garrett went into the Keep with Anders, Varric and Aveline nearly ten minutes ago. We've been out here keeping the Qunari from following them in.”

Philippa winced as she shifted her weight. “I saw your other friend go in as well not too long ago. The busty one,” she said.

The elf grunted in what, for him, was likely considered a laugh as it was accompanied by a brief upturn of his lips. “Isabela...”

“Hawke!” Meredith's voice snapped across the courtyard and both Carver and Philippa answered to their surname, turning their heads toward the Knight-Commander. With a pointed look at Carver, she gestured dismissively toward Orsino, who was scowling nearly as heavily as Garrett's elf friend.

Carver straightened and touched Philippa's elbow lightly. “The Knight-Commander asked me and Kerran to escort you and the First Enchanter back to the Circle. She is going to take the others into the Keep to try and help.”

Philippa sighed, too exhausted to even protest. She needed rest and possibly another healing potion. The trek back to the Gallows suddenly felt daunting. She directed a small burst of rejuvenating energy toward herself, allowing her to straighten and shuffle alongside Carver as they joined Orsino and the blonde haired recruit that Garrett had helped rescue from getting possessed. Philippa needed help down the countless flights of stairs back to the docks where they could catch the ferry back to the Gallows. Orsino allowed her to lean heavily on him and he walked slowly. All the while, Philippa thought about Garrett. Was he all right? What was happening in the Keep? She wished she had been allowed to go inside with him. Although in her current state, she would have been little help.

When they reached the ferry, she climbed onto the flat raft with difficulty and then slumped onto a nearby bench. Exhaustion was licking at her again. Carver sat down beside her as the Ferry carried them back across the water to the Gallows. She glanced at him, offering a half smile as his eyes flicked over her, surveying the damage with what looked like fear. “I'm fine,” she said softly. “Anders got to me just in time.”

“You don't look fine,” he said in a whisper, glancing at Kerran. “You lost a lot of blood and you're really pale.”

She cringed as she sat up. “The worst of the damage was healed, but I will still need time to recover. Magic can't restore blood. Once I get cleaned up, a good night's sleep will do wonders for me. I promise.” Then she smirked deviously. “Why Carver, it's almost like you care about me.”

He scowled and crossed his arms at her prodding. “If I didn't keep an eye on you and something happened you can guarantee Garrett would blame me.”

She snickered and immediately regretted it, her hand landing over her stomach as her muscles complained again. “Don't make me laugh, arse.”

Carver sighed and rolled his eyes. “Come on, I'll help you to your room.” He stood as the ferry docked.

She took his offered hand, Kerran and Orsino already off the boat. She leaned against her brother as they headed back into the Gallows courtyard. Outside, the building was guarded by a few compliments of templars, looked over by Cullen. When Orsino crossed into the courtyard, Cullen held up a hand to his men and approached the First Enchanter. “How fares the city?”

“The streets have been cleared. Meredith deemed it necessary to send the remaining mages back to the Gallows while she assisted in the assault on the Keep,” Orsino said bitterly.

Cullen's eyes widened momentarily as he glanced up from Orsino and looked over their small party. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn his shoulders slumped in relief when his eyes landed on her. His intense stare lingered on her, taking in her disheveled state as he spoke again. “There's only the two of you left?”

Orsino nodded. “The Qunari overwhelmed us just outside the Keep. If not for the intervention of some civilians, none of us would have returned.”

“If you don't mind, Ser, my sister was injured in the battle. She's taken a healing potion, but she needs rest,” Carver said, his voice rumbling through her as she shifted her staff so she could lean partially on him and partially on it.

Cullen balked. “Of course. Get her to the infirmary, I'll send for Marcella.”

Philippa grunted. “I don't need a healer. I just need a potion and some rest,” she said. “The worst has been taken care of.” She squeezed Carver's hand lightly so he wouldn't mention Anders. Let Cullen think she had healed herself.

“If you think that is best,” he tipped his head in a nod, giving Carver leave to help her inside.

The entry hall was filled with civilians, templars and mages all milling about. They were all mostly unharmed. She and Carver must have been a sight as they passed through toward the dormitories. Both covered in blood and her leaning heavily on him. Curious whispers followed them, but she was too exhausted to care.

With her room in sight, she sighed in relief. Grace gasped as they awkwardly squeezed through the door side by side. “Phil! What happened?”

Carver deposited her in the chair by her desk and stepped aside so she could speak to Grace. “Let's just say I don't recommend being spitted by a Qunari's spear.”

Carver shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Can I do anything else?”

Grace stepped up and glared at him. “I'll take it from here. I'll assume she'll want to get cleaned up, and she doesn't need _you_ for that.”

Carver balked at Grace's harsh words, but Philippa smiled gently at him. “It's okay, Carver. Thank you.”

He pressed his lips together and flicked his eyes to Grace before looking pointedly at Philippa. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Grace helped Philippa to get out of her bloody and ruined robes, cleaned her up and then helped her into a fresh set of clothing. Philippa was grateful for the help. She didn't believe that she could have done it all on her own. Once she was settled in her bed, another healing potion working its way through her, the Fade was not far from reach. She slipped into her dreams.

She was blessedly alone for most of the night and into the next day while she slept off the brunt of the healing process. When she finally woke, she felt like a new person. Her mana had been completely restored, and aside from a slight twinge in her abdomen, the initial assessment was that she was back to normal. She performed her own small examination, reaching into her core with her magic and making sure everything was in the right place.

When Philippa sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she realized she was alone in her room. She then realized that she wasn't even certain what time it was. She felt like she had slept forever. She dressed and left the room, making her way toward Orsino's office to see if there was any news about what had happened in the Keep. Worry was eating at her. Concern for her brother and Anders knotting up her stomach worse than the grumbling that reminded her she hadn't eaten in almost a whole day at least.

Philippa knocked respectfully on Orsino's closed door and when he answered, she stepped inside. Orsino was standing behind his desk, his hands flat on the surface beside a stack of papers. Sitting opposite him in one of the guest chairs was Cullen. “Apologies, First Enchanter. I can come back if this is a bad time...” she said, moving back toward the doors.

Cullen stood swiftly, awkwardly almost tipping the chair he was in to get out of the way. “Enchanter Hawke. It's good to see you're back on your feet. We were just finishing up here.” He turned to Orsino and nodded.

Orsino returned the gesture and Cullen rounded the chair, and shuffled past her as she stepped out of the way to allow him to leave. She snickered as the door closed. “If I didn't know better, I'd think I offended the Knight-Captain.”

Orsino returned her smile. “A great deal has just been dropped on his shoulders. The Viscount was killed in the Qunari assault, and his son killed by zealots. With no heir, the city needed a Viscount. Meredith has taken it upon herself to assume the position temporarily until a replacement can be elected. In turn that means that the Captain has been saddled with a lot more of her duties.”

“How kind of Meredith,” Philippa said sarcastically.

“Indeed,” Orsino said with a sneer. “At least it means that she won't be here as often.” Philippa smirked and then moved to sit in the chair that Cullen had been occupying. “Was there something in particular that you needed?”

She straightened her new set of robes. “I was curious about any news about my twin and his companions that went into the Keep.”

Orsino nodded. “Of course, forgive me. I've been handling the aftermath of the assault and the battle in Hightown, it slipped my mind that your brother was involved. He and his companions are fine. Better than actually. Garrett Hawke single-handedly defeated the Arishok in a duel and was named Champion of Kirkwall.”

Philippa burst out laughing. “Leave it to Garrett... Of course he's Champion of the city. Thank you, Orsino.” She stood, still smiling. “I'll leave you to your work.”


	16. Hawke Family Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa and Carver are attacked in the Gallows. Garrett's contacts lead them on another adventure outside the city that traps them in an ancient prison buried in the Vinmark Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit long, but it builds relationships and gives Philippa a chance to bond with her siblings.

The Gallows returned to some semblance of normal. The city itself was slower to recover, having been thoroughly ravaged by the Qunari. Philippa had been hopeful that with Meredith seldom there, the mages' lot would improve, even if just a little bit. It seemed instead to worsen without the Knight-Commander to leash her more overzealous minions. The mages seemed to be becoming more and more 'clumsy' as Philippa treated bruises and cuts that most certainly were not the accidents they were described as. When she spoke about her concerns after returning to her room each night, Grace would listen carefully, absorbing every detail.

One morning after breakfast, Philippa made her way to the infirmary as usual, but was surprised to see Ser Thrask. She greeted him with a smile. “Ser Thrask, what a pleasant surprise. Is there something I can help you with?” She had always liked Thrask. In spite of his avid belief in the maker and his fierce duty to the templars, he was always kind and sympathetic. He was what a templar should be. What Cullen used to be before Uldred.

“Good morning, Enchanter Hawke. I was wondering if you had a moment to speak privately?” Thrask said with a smile that was laced with nervousness.

She opened the infirmary door and stepped aside to allow him inside. “Of course.”

She entered behind him, closing the door. She moved toward her workstation to drop some supplies from her hands and then collected her inventory papers to start on the unenviable task of counting bandages. Thrask stood stiffly, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out from a dark corner and interrupt him before he had a chance to speak. “I understand you've been noticing some abuses in your day to day work...” he hinted. Philippa was suddenly very interested. She lowered her papers and watched him closely before nodding. “May I ask why you haven't reported any of these incidents?”

Philippa's brow rose and she crossed her arms beneath her chest, hugging her paperwork to her. “Unfortunately, Ser Thrask, a few abused mages in the Gallows would go unnoticed, even if I had reported these incidents. My suspicions of who the abusers are would go unheeded, largely because I believe those responsible are likely some of Meredith's closest underlings. The best I can do for the abused is treat them and offer a shoulder.”

Thrask grunted. “I've heard you previously had contacts in the mage underground...” Thrask began.

Philippa dropped her arms and crossed the room to set her papers down. “I don't know where you heard that, but I've never...”

Thrask chuckled kindly. “I'm not here to turn you in. I'm aware that the underground had a setback while you were indisposed last year... That horrible incident with Ser Alrik. The underground's main method of escape was discovered and shut down. I wanted to tell you that there is another way.”

Philippa frowned warily. “Are you saying that you condone the escape of mages from the Circle?”

Thrask circled the question. “I am part of a group inside the Gallows comprised of both mages and templars united together for the single purpose of making life better for those of us that live here. We've decided that with your track record and obvious sympathy, we would like to accept you into the fold. We would like to offer you a place to take your suspicions where they will not go unheeded.”

Philippa still looked at Thrask with narrowed eyes. “I'm not making any promises,” she said pointedly.

“Then let's call this a trial period,” Thrask said. “Allow us to show you what we can do. I'll not pressure you to make a decision right away.” With that, he bowed out of the infirmary, leaving her shaking. If that had been any other templar, she would have thought it some sort of trap. She simply didn't believe that Ser Thrask had it in him.

She collected herself and went about her day, wondering exactly which of the templars and mages had gotten together and decided to make waves. It was nearing the end of the day and Philippa was finishing up her inventory when a soft knock on the door drew her attention. She made her way over and opened it, A young girl, perhaps fifteen, was standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped around her middle and tears streaming down her face. She had long blonde hair that had at some point been braided but was now hanging loose in several strands that had been pulled free. Her face was bruised around her left eye and across her right cheek. The cheek was bleeding, dripping alongside her tears. “I'm sorry to bother you...” the girl mumbled softly.

Philippa opened the door further and beckoned the girl in. When she reached for her to take her elbow, the girl flinched. Philippa drew back, understanding she had been through something traumatizing. After what Ser Alrik had done to her, she had been reluctant to allow another person to touch her, but she had been older. “Who did this to you?” she asked, gently leading the girl to the closest bed.

The blonde sat gingerly on the bed, flinching when her rear hit the mattress. When she didn't respond to Philippa's question, Philippa kept her distance and softly probed with her magic to get a taste of the extent of her injuries. What she discovered enraged her beyond sense. Aside from the bruising and cuts on her face, her wrists had been bound tightly enough to chafe and bruise as well. When Philippa reached deeper, she felt the whispers of assault that explained why sitting down had pained her.

Swallowing the outrage, she took a step closer to the girl. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Terri, messere,” the girl replied softly.

Philippa nodded and smiled. “Terri, I'll need to examine you. Is it all right for me to touch you?”

Terri flinched again. “I came to you for help, but Maker forgive me, I'm still so shaken.”

“I understand, Terri,” Philippa said soothingly. “If you'd like, I have a spell that can put you to sleep while I examine you. That way, you won't feel what I'm doing, and your mind can relax. If you're still uncomfortable, I'm willing to go at a pace that you decide.”

Terri looked up at her with absolute relief. “No, I want to be brave.”

Philippa smiled reassuringly. “I'll start with your face and work my way down. Would you like me to talk to you while I work? If there's anything I'm good at, it's talking.” She slowly reached her hands toward Terri who steadfastly straightened and allowed Philippa to touch her fingers to her face.

Terri was silent for a few moments as Philippa probed her bruises and checked for hemorrhaging. Satisfied there was nothing going on beneath the surface, she allowed healing magic to seep from the tips of her fingers and close the cut on her cheek and reduce the swelling around her eye before removing the bruising all together. “How old were you when you... grew into your body?” Terri asked timidly.

Philippa paused in her ministrations, meeting Terri's gaze with sympathy. “How old are you, Terri?”

“I'm fifteen, messere,” Terri answered.

“I thought so... I was barely thirteen when I started my menses. My body quickly caught up. I know what it's like when the boys all suddenly start to notice you...” she paused briefly and took Terri's hands in hers, looking down to assess the bruising on her wrists. “Was there a specific boy in particular that noticed you?”

Terri bit her lip and fresh tears began to drip from her eyes. “Not a boy, messere. A templar.”

Philippa's eyes shot up to meet Terri's. “A templar?” she gasped. “One of the templars did this to you?”

Terri jerked her hands from Philippa's, her eyes widening. “Please, you can't say anything. If anyone finds out I told, his friends will do much worse. I shouldn't have said...”

Philippa took Terri's hands again, soothingly shushing her. “It's all right. I'm not going to ask you his name, Terri, and everything you say inside this room stays between us, okay?”

Terri began to cry in earnest, throwing herself into Philippa's arms. “I hate it here! I just want to leave. I don't care where I go, as long as its away from this wretched place.”

Philippa hugged the frightened girl to her, moving to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. She hesitated to offer Terri a way out, not knowing if she could trust Thrask's little group of conspirators. If she knew more about what was going on with the underground, she would have tried to contact Anders for help. She allowed Terri to cry into her robes, leaving a damp spot near her collarbone. When the girl calmed, she was able to finish her examination and relieve the rest of her injuries before reluctantly letting her go. Terri gave her no more information about her abuser, and Philippa was forced to drop the subject when she clammed up completely.

She was shuffling from the infirmary to her room, her attention anywhere but on her surroundings. She had bypassed the dining hall, her stomach churning with indecision. She was suddenly drawn from her thoughts by a familiar voice. “Hawke. Shouldn't you be at supper?”

She sighed heavily, stopping and turning to address him. “I've had... a very long day, Cullen. I think I'm just going to turn in. I have a lot on my mind.”

He studied her intently with his amber gaze, his brow creasing slightly before he opened his mouth then closed it and reached up to rub the back of his neck, shuffling his feet. “Is there... Can I... Would you like to talk about it?” he stammered.

Philippa was not really in the mood for talk, but there was something about Cullen that insisted she straighten from her slouch and poke at him. “My my, Knight-Captain... Was that concern for my well-being, or concern that I might be up to something?”

His lips pressed together in annoyance and his hand fell from his neck. “A simple no would have been sufficient,” he said grumpily.

“Oh, but watching you make that face is so much more fun,” she intoned. Then she sighed.

When she didn't continue, his brow rose from it's frown. “I think that might have been the least creative attempt at facetiousness I've ever heard from you. Is something the matter?”

Philippa allowed her eyes to meet his and she studied him. How would he react to the fact that one of the templars in the ranks had forced himself on a fifteen year old girl? She crossed her arms and stared him down for a moment, then she said, “I suppose if Meredith sees fit to ignore these types of things, I have no choice but to report them to you...”

“I am serving as Meredith's second. Anything that she needs to address can be brought to my attention,” he said stiffly in response to her curt demeanor.

“An apprentice just came to the infirmary, bruised and beaten. This is not the first such incident in recent months, but it _was_ the first to include abuse of a sexual nature,” she said.

Cullen's cheeks flushed, but he managed to remain professional. “Is there a reason you didn't report this straight away?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “The girl was terrified. Her face was bruised, her wrists had been bound and she had been violated. I did my best to soothe her and relieve the physical pain, but she shut down when I tried to get her to tell me who had abused her. All I got out of her was that it was a templar. I don't think she even meant to tell me that much.”

Cullen's embarrassment leaked from his face as it went ashen. “A templar? And you don't have a name?” When she simply shook her head, he continued. “And you said there have been other incidents?”

She shrugged. “I can't say if they were all the same person, or if they were even related, but I can say that the infirmary has gotten much busier since Meredith decided to spend the majority of her time outside the Gallows...” Philippa paused and flushed as Cullen's expression shifted. She felt the need to rescind the assumed accusation. “I'm not blaming you or your ability to lead the templars, but I believe the old saying 'when the cat's away, the mice will play', applies here.”

He cleared his throat, obviously offended in spite of her reassurances. “I will look into the incidents. Thank you for bringing them to my attention.” Then he turned on his heel and stormed off toward the main hall. With a sigh, she continued to her room.

The Gallows in Kirkwall was supposed to be a secure facility, just as any Circle was. A reassurance to the both the outside world that the mages couldn't escape, and to the mages that they were protected. After the night guard had been posted over the escape hatch in the kitchens that led to the smugglers tunnels, the previously unsecured entry and exit was supposedly not accessible. So how was it, Philippa wondered, that she was standing beside her bed over the sleeping body of a dwarf that had woken her from a dead sleep with a shout as he charged at her with a dagger? He had cried out her last name accompanied by some crazed rambling before she rolled out of the way and threw a sleep spell at him. Even if he had attacked her, Maker forbid a dead body was found in her room. “What in the... oh,” Grace gasped, getting out of her own bed to see what was happening.

Philippa was already moving. She headed to the corner of the room to grab her staff and then shoved her feet in her shoes. “If he wakes up...”

“Don't worry, he won't,” Grace growled, her magic already swirling to the surface.

Philippa cautiously left their room, but didn't wait long before she started making herself known. This was the one time that she wanted the templars to know she was up at night. She rushed for the main hall where there was bound to be a templar or two on patrol. She never made it to the hall before colliding with a solid body passing through the archway from the opposite direction. Hands landed on her upper arms, steadying her. “Phil! Are you all right? I was just attacked.”

“Carver! Maker's breath...” she paused, gathering her breath as another pair of templars appeared at Carver's back. “Grace is keeping an eye on mine. A dwarf with a knife. I put him to sleep.”

“Did he say anything?” Carver wondered.

“Nothing coherent. Who attacked you?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No I'm fine. Same as you. Dwarves. They were shouting something about 'the blood of the Hawke'. After we took them down, I rushed here to be sure you were all right,” Carver explained.

“What in the bloody void is going on?” she growled as Carver sent the templars following him toward her room and took her arm to lead her toward the templars' hall.

“We need to report this. If they came after both of us, it's about our family, which means Garrett and Bethany could be in danger as well,” Carver deduced.

“Well, shit,” Philippa said as they hurried along.

The dwarves had apparently dragged everyone from their beds. Garrett was at the Gallows the next day, asking after them, and Philippa had visited Bethany in her dreams to check on her. She was apparently all right, but Philippa's warning had come in handy three days later. Garrett assured them that after examining the corpses in his basement, his dwarven friend, Varric was reaching out to all of his contacts to find out who was out for Hawke blood.

Security at the Gallows was tightened even further around her and Carver. Within six weeks, they were called before Meredith and the First Enchanter to be given special permission to leave the Circle to go with Garrett into the Vinmark Mountains. Carver was given her phylactery to carry around his neck like Cullen had been when they had left Ferelden. It was strangely liberating to be able to freely step foot outside of the city. Philippa had never been on an adventure before, and in spite of her life and the lives of her family being on the line, she felt lighthearted.

Along the way, Varric explained that the dwarves that had attacked them were Carta dwarves, although he had no idea why they were after them. The night before they reached their destination, Bethany finally caught up to them, traveling alone. She wore the uniform of the Grey Wardens, much like Solona had worn during the Blight, and her staff was well made, humming with primal energy. She still wore her hair down around her shoulders in thick rings, but she had matured since Philippa had last seen her physically. In spite of the years behind her eyes, she still giggled girlishly and threw herself at each of her siblings in turn, Philippa included. “Oh, Phil! It's so good to see you in the flesh.”

Philippa chuckled and hugged her tighter. “I'm glad you're all right.”

Bethany snorted. “If not for your warning I'd have been spitted in my sleep. Nathaniel was beside himself.”

Philippa smirked. “Speaking of Nathaniel, I see you're alone.”

She nodded slowly as Anders suddenly seemed very interested in what she was saying. “The Wardens couldn't spare both of us for this. Nathaniel had another mission that he was needed for. I'm supposed to join him when I'm done here.”

“Nathaniel? As in Nathaniel Howe?” Anders asked with a slight grin.

“Do you know him?” Bethany asked.

“We served together in Amaranthine after the Blight,” Anders explained. “How is he doing?”

“Busy, like the rest of us. We hardly ever get a chance to relax. Who knew Wardens had so much to contend with even when there isn't a Blight,” Bethany sighed.

They continued to Vinmark together, another day's journey. Philippa took every opportunity along the way to catch up with Anders, and to get a little better acquainted with her siblings in a casual manner like she never had the opportunity to during their brief encounters in the Gallows. Anders was just as sarcastic as ever, but his quips were a bit more subdued now that Garrett was at his side, stealing all of the one liners. Her twin seemed to love being the center of attention and Carver was none too thrilled, it seemed, to be back in his shadow. Philippa had gotten to know more about Bethany than she had the others in their letters that came at least once a month, sometimes more often if she was in the area, or had a few days off. Philippa had a chance to imagine what life could have been like if she wasn't trapped in the Gallows.

Finally as they approached a desolate and broken down road that led further into the mountains, Varric stopped them and sighed. "All right, don't say I didn't warn you." He pointed across the way to a sandy wasteland. "There it is..."

Garrett stopped beside Varric, squinting out over the desolate place. " _That's_ where your dwarves are?"

"These are Carta dwarves," Varric corrected. "so they're more criminals and smugglers than anything else." He rubbed his beardless chin in thought. "They're not usually stupid, though. I don't know why they'd attack you."

"I can't think of anything we did to make the Carta angry... Today anyhow," Garrett mused wryly, crossing his arms in annoyance. Philippa followed suit, taking in the pinched and grumpy expression on Anders' face, while Bethany looked ahead with a frown. They had both gone strangely quiet and distracted in the last hour, their heads tipped as if they were listening for something.

"You have a plan, then? I found their hideout, but my sources couldn't tell me anything else. It's all very... strange," Varric said as he pulled his crossbow and fiddled with the arms before closing them back up again and harnessing it.

"Why do you say that?" Philippa wondered as the rest of the group glanced warily at each other. "It's just the Carta, isn't it?" Garrett had made the dwarven criminals sound like no big deal as they had talked about them over the course of their trek.

Varric shook his head. "As far as my contacts in the Carta know, they shouldn't be here. There shouldn't even be a here. This place is invisible. A big blind spot on the map. Bianca's never been this suspicious, and she's twitchy to start with." Philippa had learned that Bianca was the name of Varric's rather impressive crossbow that he treated with a mild reverence that made most people uncomfortable.

Garrett smiled slightly. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything. I get attacked a lot."

Varric chuckled. "A fine point. So what's the plan?"

Garrett waved his hand dismissively and Philippa could almost hear herself as he spoke. "Oh, I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding. Later we'll all have tea and we'll laugh."

"Oh!" Varric said with equal sarcasm. "your name is Hawke? I thought it was Locke!" He laughed at his own joke and Philippa snorted softly.

Anders sneered a bit as he approached them. "I just don't like the idea they can get at you. It worries me." His hand ran carefully down Garrett's arm in a familiar gesture.

Garrett pressed his lips together and patted his cheek gently, chuckling a bit. " You worry too much. Let's go," he said starting to walk toward whatever awaited them.

Not much farther down the road they came across a cart, overturned and on fire. The crates it had been transporting were untouched and there were dwarven and Bronto bodies strewn all over. Philippa wrinkled her nose. "Someone doesn't like intruders."

"They're from the Merchant's Guild," Varric grumbled. "The Carta doesn't kill guild members! That's... really strange."

Varric had already used 'really strange' to describe the situation. Even not knowing him as well as her brother did, that seemed like it might mean something eerie. This place was giving off a strange vibe and Anders hadn't stopped frowning since they had gotten within walking distance. As she carefully strolled with the others along the dried up ravine that led them to the closest resemblance to a man made structure, she heard a raspy voice cry out from above. "It's the Hawke!" She shuddered, the voice echoing from what could have been anywhere. Her eyes searched the small places that someone could be hiding in and found nothing but maddening flickers of movement.

As they pushed further along the road, more shouts from the voice spoke of 'The Blood of the Hawke' and she swore she heard mention of their father's name. They passed under a broken down tunnel that led into more desert. At the end of the tunnel, the source of the voice finally showed himself. "You!" he shouted in awe. "You're finally here! You've come!" Garrett placed himself ahead of them all, raising a single brow as he looked over the dwarf. Philippa had certainly never seen the dwarf before. She had been convinced that there would be some deeper meaning to this and she would at least understand when they reached their destination. He was average looking in every aspect. Dark hair, beard, Carta uniform. The only thing off was his eyes. They were bugged and wild, dark rings around them showing either sickness or a severe lack of sleep. He turned from them and held up his hands as if praising the heavens. "Everyone! It's the children of Malcolm Hawke! They've come to us!"

"What does our father have to do with this?" Garrett wondered aloud, taking a defensive step forward as more dwarves began to descend on them. Father had been dead nearly ten years.

"It began with him and ends with you! Blood for blood. That's what we were told," the crazed dwarf said with vigor.

"You're not making any sense," Philippa informed him casually, stepping up beside her twin as the dwarf looked at them with an eerie sort of lust, like he wanted nothing more than to slice them to ribbons. With Philippa's movement, the others grouped around her and Garrett, hands hovering over weapons.

"You've come to us now, and that's the only thing that matters!" he insisted.

"You tell me, how could I refuse such a delightfully worded invitation?" Garrett snarked in response to the multiple attacks he had been subjected to over the weeks as the 'most vulnerable' of the Hawkes.

"We must have the blood! You don't understand!" the dwarf growled, sinking further into nonsense as they spoke.

"Oh, blood! Why didn't you just ask?" Garrett continued with sarcasm.

The dwarf balled his fists. "We will take it! Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!"

With his shout, the rest of his people descended on them from the cliffs. Philippa sprung into action, immediately lifting a barrier around them all. Then she drew her staff as a spell of haste fell over the party, supplied by Anders' familiar magic. It had been some time since she had last felt him casting. It was comforting to have someone at her back that she was familiar with. Bethany's magic was lighter, less urgent and thrumming than Anders' as she cast a repulsing glyph around Garrett's feet. Her twin chuckled tauntingly as several dwarves charged at him while he casually drew his daggers, only to be thrown back like they had slammed into a wall. Varric began to pick off the other dwarven archers along the raised sides of the cliffs surrounding them. Any of them that managed to get in closer by some miracle were cut down by either Carver or Garrett, swifter than they could reach the back line.

They pushed further toward the gates to what looked like an arena. The whole time, Philippa wondered just who this Corypheus character was, and what her long dead father had to do with the Carta wanting their blood. Inside the gates, she realized it was less an arena than a heavily defended courtyard with wooden battlements surrounding it where more dwarves with bows crouched and rained arrows down on them. She did her best to stun the magic resistant archers with her lightning while Carver and Garrett made their way up the ramps to both sides to rush around the circle of ramparts and cut down the aggressors.

Once the ramparts were cleared and they headed back down, she twirled her staff to carry it, crystal to the ground, so she could drag latent mana from the ground as they proceeded. Then Varric said to Garrett, "The Carta doesn't normally act like this. They're businessmen!"

Garrett grunted in agreement. "I'd like to know who this 'Corypheus' is. With a name like that, he's bound to go 'mwa-ha-ha' at some point. I just know it. And really? More blood? Why can't it ever be spit... or a lock of hair?"

Varric chuckled in disgust. "You really want to encounter a spit mage?"

Philippa let out her own chuckle as Garrett guffawed. "For variety, sure," he shrugged.

They made it out of the pit-like enclosure and followed a walled off path deeper into the mountains toward the chasm. There were placards posted along the way that helpfully gave them a little bit of insight into the structure ahead.

Philippa shuddered as she read the placards It was a dwarven prison a very long time ago. "How many generations of warriors stood guard here? And why does that make me nervous?"

To break the uncomfortable silence that followed her words, Garrett sighed. "Someday, I'll visit a place with no ancient evils, horrors, devouring plagues, or insanity... Maybe a beach."

Varric chuckled in disbelief. "The day you go to the beach would be the day an armada of angry demon pirates shows up."

Anders chuckled softly, but his heart wasn't in it. She could feel his tension as they approached the chasm. She didn't spend every day with him anymore, but she couldn't believe his behavior was normal. Garrett's concerned glances told her she was right. They rounded a corner and the structure came into view. Amgeforn if the placards could be believed. It was a massive tower built directly in the middle of the chasm. "Will you look at that?" she gasped, impressed with how well hidden a gigantic tower like that was. In spite of the danger they faced, her heart was racing with not fear, but excitement. The sight of the structure made her want to explore it, to learn it's secrets like she had the Gallows and Kinloch. Was this what had made Finn stay away from the Circle after he left? It was thrilling.

They continued deeper into the chasm and toward their best guess at the entrance to the fortress. There was a collection of outbuildings before the main structure and they were crawling with more dwarves trying to kill them. As they fought through the seemingly endless horde, Philippa suddenly found herself in darkness as the chasm closed in around them. She kept hold of her staff during a break in the fighting and Garrett glanced over his shoulder at Varric. "I'm surprised you agreed to come, Varric. You hate being underground, and you avoid the Carta the same way you do the Merchant's Guild."

He chuckled. "There's no way I'd miss watching you make these motherless nug-lickers cry."

She chuckled as they made their way down to a look out point in the structure they were in that gave them a sparkling view or the tower and the surrounding maze of tunnels and roads. It smelled of death and decay with a hint of moisture. Bethany sighed and glanced at Anders. "I was hoping I wasn't feeling them."

Philippa frowned. "What is it, Beth?"

"Darkspawn," Anders grumbled.

"You can see them crawling all over the place below," Carver pointed out. "I'm a long way from needing money these days. If I wanted to visit the Deep Roads, I'd join the Wardens. They can have their burden. And I'll keep mine." The jab was pointed at Garrett, but Bethany rolled her eyes.

"Everyone remember the rules," Garrett said in a gruff tone. "Keep your mouths closed and try not to get their blood on you." With nods from everyone, they continued forward.

"Once more to the Deep Roads. I remember when that seemed so daunting... full of promise. We were young and stupid. Let's hope we're not just older," Bethany said softly to Garrett.

As they began to see signs of life, Garrett began to pause in each room and search for clues that might give them some insight into what they were really dealing with. He seemed well practiced at investigating, so she followed his lead, trying to be helpful. This was about all of them. The deeper they went, the more Philippa realized that these dwarves were living here in this Maker forsaken hole. She found a lengthy report by a scout in one of the first rooms as they spread out to hunt for clues.

_My team was sent to evaluate the fortified structures that overlook the northern caravan routes in the Vinmark Mountains. The Viscount's library suggests the buildings were part of an Ancient Grey Warden fortress, constructed to guard the pass but abandoned after the Free Marches gained independence from Tevinter._

_Our examination revealed construction that is remarkably sturdy for its age. The fortress' foundations reach deeper into the rock than expected. Two levels below the surface, we discovered a series of twisting, underground passages, chiseled out of the mountain itself. I commanded the men to set up camp there._

_Not an hour later, one of the newer men reported voices from the depths. He flew into a frenzy, demanding that we leave immediately. Those unused to tight spaces often display such hysteria. Thankfully, I was able to calm him before his raving affected the rest of the team._

_But he was gone this morning. Tracks lead deeper into the caverns. We shall follow him._

Philippa frowned at the mention of Grey Wardens when she thought about Anders' increasing silent agitation. Varric lightly punched Garrett's arm. "I hope you told Bodhan where you were going. If we never come back, maybe someone will send a search party after their Champion." When he offered him little else than a forced grin, glancing over at Anders who was scowling, he continued. "You have any idea why the Carta's after you, Hawke?"

"Not in the slightest," Garrett shrugged, setting down a time worn paper and leaving the room. "But I intend to find out."

When they finally entered the Carta's apparent hideout, it was evident that they were all feeling the awkwardness of not knowing why they were even there. The constant banter between Garrett and his friend was calming Philippa's nerves, but finally, Anders piped up, unexpectedly downtrodden and mildly conspiratorial. "While we're stuck down here, Meredith could be burning down the Circle..."

Everyone else just glanced at each other and Garrett moved up alongside him and reassuringly took his hand. There was something really bothering him and she couldn't be certain but she thought it might have something to to with Justice and the Wardens. He was not himself. Even she could tell that. Garrett gently let his hand go to read over a few papers on a nearby desk.

_You will find Malcolm Hawke's heir in Hightown. By the grand stairs to the Keep. The home will be well defended, but do not spill Hawke's blood. Use the poison if capture proves difficult. If you have to kill anyone else, do it quietly._

_And don't go near the young dwarf. He sees things._

_-In the name of the Master, Corypheus. May he see sunlight again._

More on topic than he had been since they arrived, Anders said, "I've never heard of dwarves using blood magic. But they're obviously after you for something. I'm guessing Corypheus is some kind of demon?"

Garrett sighed and slapped the pamphlet back down on the table. "I guess we only get that answer from Corypheus."

They pushed forward, overhearing a disturbing conversation from a few other dwarves. "If I get the Hawke's blood, Rhatigan says I can go into the tunnels and drink of the Master."

Philippa did not even want to hear any more. She rushed ahead of the others, rounded the corner and unleashed a fireball into their midst, cutting off the conversation. When the group was dead, they kept pushing further in. They split up again in the next room, hunting for more information. When Philippa opened a chest that had a small orb inside, she felt a brief caress of mana. When she picked it up to study it, it was warm to the touch and Anders grunted, rubbing his forehead. "Does anyone else hear drumming?" he mumbled.

There was a letter in the chest as well.

_The Wardens did not guard the key with care. It was left in a repository, with objects of little worth. Trinkets. Dusty Grey Warden trophies. Not even a guard posted. Fools. If only they knew what they had, and had lost._

_It will not wake at my touch; it sleeps and it's power remains within. The Great One says it requires Malcolm Hawke's blood to awaken it. Only then can it's powers set him free._

_I will find the heirs to the blood and the Great One will reward me. Yes. Let it be soon._

Anders had moved up beside her to read the letter as well. "A key, tuned to your father's blood. Sounds like a ritual element for blood magic." He turned to Garrett and moved to his side to touch a hand to his upper arm. "Be careful, Hawke." Garrett accepted his concern with a smile. Philippa was unsure if he even remembered talking about the drumming when she had picked up the orb. He seemed to snap back to himself as they forged deeper into the fire-lit Carta headquarters, attempting to join in on the banter just to make Garrett stop frowning at him. "More Deep Roads. Why did we agree to do this again?" He grinned at Varric.

"Because I love trouble, and you think Hawke is cute. That wasn't a serious question, was it, Blondie?" Varric said with a chuckle.

"He is pretty cute," Anders agreed with a smirk, reaching out to squeeze her brother's rear as he walked beside him, the others ahead of them.

It had amazed Philippa at first, when she had noticed the flirtatious hints during the Qunari invasion, that her brother and Anders were an item. It made her feel a bit strange that her twin was now sleeping with the man that had taken her virginity. Then, Anders had never been one to care about such things, and Garrett didn't seem like he minded in the least. She and Anders had fallen apart spectacularly, but that didn't mean that he and Garrett would not work out in spite of how alike she and her brother were.

Bethany interrupted the new silence with a sad sigh. “I'm glad Mother... well, she didn't need to deal with this. Attacks on all of us... Why couldn't they go after Gamlen?”

Garrett snorted before Philippa could comfort Bethany. “Good taste?”

Bethany's answering laughter made Carver scowl. “I wish the things lurking in the dark had such a discerning palate. It'd be almost comforting. Understandable. Instead of what I've seen. Thanks to... this life."

Garrett's brow rose and he looked at his little sister. "You'd have less to know about it if you were, you know, dead."

"Sometimes I wonder..." Bethany sighed, twirling her staff between her fingers.

Philippa got her chance to comfort as she walked beside Bethany, taking her arm in hers and smiling. Bethany responded by laying her head on her upper arm briefly with a small smile. "You're not looking so sunny, Sunshine," Varric pointed out.

Bethany nodded, still clinging to Philippa's arm. "It's not how I wanted to come back. If I did at all."

Varric scoffed. "Well, maybe the old place didn't roll out the welcome, but it's still home, right?"

"I've spent more time as a Warden than I did in Kirkwall," Bethany reminded him.

"It ain't the buildings I'm talking about. It's good to see you," Varric smiled kindly.

"Thank you," Bethany returned, patting Varric's shoulder.

As they descended further in, Philippa was beginning to think that the Carta had run out of dwarves, even though they had yet to meet the famous Rhatigan. That was up until she began to hear monotone chanting from just around a corner. She sighed as they pushed forward. "The Hawke's blood! The Master will rise. He will be free!"

"Gerav?" Varric gasped as he laid eyes on the speaker.

"Varric? N-no one told me you would be part of this. We were just going after the Hawke..." the dwarf said, more lucidly that she thought was possible with the look in his eyes.

"Why _have_ the Carta been attacking us?" she asked, hoping to get a better answer than Garrett had been getting when he asked.

"I c-can't say. The Master must be free..." he stumbled.

Varric approached him with a brow quirked. "Really, Gerav? I thought better of you than this... I mean gutting the occasional competitor for fun and profit, that's the game. But what are you all even doing here? Worshiping demons?"

"We drink the Darkspawn blood. He calls us..." the dwarf admitted. That explained the glassy look in his eyes. Those that drank Darkspawn blood and didn't perish became what was known as ghouls. He must have been in the process of changing, as had the others they had killed on the way in.

"Why would you do that? Won't you just die?" Garrett asked in amazement that anyone would willingly drink Darkspawn blood.

"It's the only way... to hear the music." Gerav said desperately.

"Oh, come on, you nug-licker! Snap out of it. There's no gold in hallucinating," Varric shouted.

Garrett sighed and crossed his arms. "Manners, Varric! Introduce me to your lunatic friend."

Varric glanced up at him then said as sarcastically polite as he had. "Hawke, this is Gerav. He's a greedy, brilliant, bastard son-of-a-nug from the Carta. Gerav, this is Hawke, the one whose blood you want to drink or bathe in or whatever. But if you're after eternal youth, I've got to tell you he's no virgin. None of them are... I don't think..." He turned his gaze over his shoulder to flick his eyes from Philippa to Carver, and finally to Bethany. None of them held his gaze. With a nod Varric turned back around. "There, see?"

"The Master is calling. He needs the blood," Gerav insisted, throwing his hands up and ignoring Varric's jab at them.

"Gerav... buddy... This isn't like you," Varric continued to try to talk him down. Philippa could tell that they had apparently been good friends. He pulled Bianca from his back and knocked a bolt, the click clack resounding in the hollow underground room. "Look. I've still got Bianca, never misfired a day in her life. You don't want her to see her papa like this, do you?"

"Varric?" Garrett said sympathetically. "You want to spare this bastard?"

"Not if he's after you, Hawke," Varric insisted, lowering and aiming Bianca. "Bianca, I think it's time to say goodbye." When he fired, Gerav ducked down, a smoke pellet bursting against the ground so he could escape the bolt. Several more dwarves flooded into the room. "Reinforcements! You bastard!" They made short work of the dwarves and Varric moved to kneel beside his old friend. "You poor stupid bastard..." he sighed as he closed Gerav's eyes. "I used to do business with the Carta, back in the day. Gerav was a nutcase then, too, but in a good way. He was trying to design a new type of repeating crossbow. Bianca was the only one that ever worked." He stood and brushed off his hands, hanging his head. "I can't believe he ended up like that."

Garrett laid a hand on his shoulder in sympathy and he gave him a half smile before they continued onward. They needed to root out all of these dwarves before they had an army of ghouls after them. They didn't have to go far before they finally met the leader and his pet Bronto. He was just as tainted as the others, but his ramblings were mildly more intelligible. "Hawke, they told me you were going to be trouble. I swore to Corypheus we'd bring him Malcolm Hawke's blood. One way or the other."

"What does this have to do with our father?" Philippa demanded.

"The Master wants you. I don't ask why," he said with a glare.

She sneered. "Corypheus wants some blood? Sure! Let me just open a vein... How about a kidney, too?"

"Corypheus, we have done as you command. Your sacrifice is here. You will see the surface once more!" Rhatigan shouted to the heavens before unleashing his Bronto on them along with a cluster of more crazed dwarves. The thick iron barred gate slammed closed behind them.

All of her companions took hits in the fight, bleeding and sweating as the massive Bronto charged back and forth through the room. She watched Anders get pinned near a rear wall, a volley of traps jutting up in front of him. Across the room, the Bronto dug in its heels and marked him. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw no escape for him. She slammed her staff head into the dwarf she was engaged with, jumped over another set of traps at her feet and threw herself in front of the charging horn of the Bronto. If anything happened to Anders that she could have prevented, she would never forgive herself, and likely Garrett would blame himself for allowing Anders to come with them. "No!" Anders shouted in terror just before she jammed her staff into the ground in front of her and the barrier sprung up thick before her. She felt it to her bones as the heavy animal collided with the barrier. It pushed her back, the impact cracking the spell. She gritted her teeth and dug in her own heels, pushing back. She was no match for the two ton creature and it's momentum, until Anders' palm fell on her shoulder and his mana swirled around her to strengthen the barrier. "Hold on, Phil." She took in a breath and centered her power, focusing on keeping the thrashing creature away from them both until someone could get close enough to kill it. She watched Varric as he assessed the situation between them and the nearest helping hand, Carver, the sheer number of traps and dwarves a massive hindrance. Varric lowered Bianca and began firing at the dwarves in the way as Bethany reached out with her mana and froze the spike traps in the floor. Finally, Carver charged across the field, slipping around everything in his way. He slashed upwards, his sword beneath the Bronto's chin. He cleaved through it's thick hide and even thicker neck, removing it's head in one swing. The blood pooled around Philippa's feet as she dropped the barrier and her shoulders slumped. Her reserves were dangerously low after that stunt. Anders' hand fell away and he cast her a concerned glance before moving back into the fight and helping Garrett and Varric to finish off the dwarves while she took a breather to try and regain some of her mana.

Carver stepped around the pooled blood on the floor and rested his hand on her back. "Are you all right, sister?"

She nodded. "Go help the others. I'll just take a lyrium potion somewhere out of the way."

Carver pressed his lips together and after a quick assessment from his flicking eyes, he nodded and left her to recharge. She noticed Rhatigan's body to her right and the rest of the threats were being quickly neutralized now that they weren't dodging an angry Bronto. She shuffled over to the dwarf, something glowing beneath him. She frowned and crouched, dragging his body over to his back. In his hand, he clutched a strange looking key. "What the...?" she wondered aloud.

Garrett moved to crouch beside her, nudging her with his elbow. "All right?" he asked. She nodded distractedly as something about the key called to her and she was mesmerized, reaching for it without a second thought. Before she could touch it, Garrett, grabbed her hand and pulled it away from the glowing object. "Let me. Ancient glowy magical things have a habit of biting." She drew her hand back with a nod, clutching it to her chest. When Garrett wrapped his fingers around it, the magic in the key burst to life and it grew, the cloaking spell on it shattering and throwing it to full size in his hands. He held it in his palms, still on his knees as the key became a large, ugly looking dagger. The metal of it's core hummed with cracks of blue and she got the sensation that it was reaching for her, fingers grasping for her blood and her magic in spite of it being in Garrett's hands. She gritted her teeth at the sticky sensation and then Garrett cried out. "What is this?" he gasped, as the others gathered around them. "I can feel it... inside me."

As the magic slowly dimmed and both the dagger and her skin calmed, Garrett panted, looking over the twisted dagger in his hand, turning it over with reverence. Anders choked and said, "That weapon draws on your blood, Hawke. There are dangerous magics here."

The truth rang inside her head like a bell. She swallowed as her racing heart slowed, and pointed to the weapon. "This is going to take us to Corypheus." She noted more dwarves fleeing further into the structure and as the others watched Garrett with concerned looks on their faces, his eyes tracking the dwarves as well. He flipped the dagger's hilt into his palm, grinned, stood, and gave chase.

When the wooden Carta buildings gave way to proper dwarven carved Deep Roads the likes of which Philippa had never laid eyes on, Garrett continued like a man possessed, heedless of the obvious trap until it sprung on them. A magical barrier flew up between them and freedom. "Those sons of bitches," Varric grumbled as they stopped to investigate, Anders grabbing hold of Garrett. "The whole blasted thing's sealed over."

Garrett growled in frustration, looking down at the dagger and cursing his own stupidity. The magic in the dagger had led them all into a trap. Anders tried to dispel the barrier to no avail and Philippa grunted. "I guess we should have seen that coming."

They needed to find another way out. She moved away from the barrier and took in her surroundings. The path they had followed had spilled them in the Deep Roads, Anders grunted painfully and said. "There are Darkspawn here. A lot of them." Bethany nodded in agreement, grimacing. Philippa wondered what it was like to sense Darkspawn, whether it was like when she felt demons hovering around her in the Fade. Did it give them headaches, or was it like a hair raising sensation. She made a note to ask Bethany if she got a chance.

Across the way from their location, the tower stood, looming high above them as well as deep below. It was a marvel of construction that must have taken decades to build. She could see the place crawling with darkspawn beneath the Grey Warden heraldries that flapped in the tiny amount of air that was making its way down this far from the surface to swirl through the stifling environment. "And they wonder why I prefer the surface," Varric grumbled from her other side.

The dwarves they had been chasing had disappeared and Garrett started towards the direction they had gone in. "Back in the Deep Roads. Like it or not, hmm?" Bethany said softly to Anders as they followed Garrett.

"Like it or not," Anders grudginly agreed.

"Must be hard, after walking away from the Wardens. Not everyone gets that choice," she said.

Anders turned on her, his expression grim. "You know what I chose. Or what chose me."

When Bethany balked, Philippa stepped between them. "Hey," she hissed. "It's not her fault."

It was Anders' turn to look cowed. "You're right, Phil. I'm sorry, Bethany."

"It's all right," Bethany said softly, moving ahead of them to walk beside Carver.

Philippa hung back slightly, holding onto Anders' elbow. "We might not be as close as we were once, but I can tell when something is bothering you..."

"It's nothing," he lied.

She snorted. "And I'm the Divine..."

Anders rolled his eyes. "There's something down here... Like whispers in my head..."

Philippa took his hand comfortingly. "You'll let me know if it gets worse. Maybe I can help." He didn't answer, but allowed her to hold his hand.

The deeper they went, the worse _she_ felt, trying to ignore the foul magic that was permeating the area. There were demons nearby. She could sense them in the back of her head like a fresh migraine. As she tried to staunch the twisting in her gut, she walked ahead of the others, crossing through a doorway. A hulking genlock caught her by surprise, seeing her as soon as she entered and abandoning the meal of dwarf that it was enjoying to growl and charge her. She backpedaled into Anders and his barrier swirled up around them all as his hands landed on her arms to steady her. A couple more darkspawn joined the fray and Philippa began to panic. They were bottle-necked in the doorway. Anders and Bethany were safe from the Blight sickness, but the rest of them needed to be extremely careful. When they had cut down the genlocks, Garrett and Carver forcing their way through the door with brute force, a hum of magic caught her attention. Ahead of them there stood a demon, trapped behind a powerful binding spell. As she focused on the spell, she noticed that it extended beyond the exit from the room and they would need to break it to get through. "Do you feel that?" she asked absently, her eyes looking for the bundles of magic that needed dispelling.

"Careful," Anders warned as he readied himself to fight the demon. Philippa and Bethany moved to the two large Griffon shields on the walls. She passed her fingers through the glowing red orb of magic embedded in her shield as Bethany did the same with hers. The magic flicked across the room to embed in the binding in front of the demon. She approached the binding to pass through the final orb and the binding dissipated, leaving her face to face with the demon.

It was a low level demon, but it's presence, nonetheless was like a hammering in her head. It easily fell to them, but as she felt the trickle of magic leaving the area and her headache eased, a great booming voice echoed through the hall. A shimmering blue aura hovered near the binding. '...be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be. I can do nothing about the Wardens' use of demons in this horrid place. But I will have no one say any magic of mine ever released one into the world..."

The aura shifted away and disappeared, leaving a sour taste in the back of Philippa's throat that turned her stomach out of nerves rather than disgust. "That voice seems... oddly familiar."

Anders seemed to sense the shift in mood as she and her siblings all shared a closed mouth glance before moving forward. His response was to awkwardly try to turn the moment to levity. "One good thing about being trapped in an ancient underground prison... not a lot of templars."

Garrett played along, easing his own discomfort by allowing him to move up alongside him and nudge him. "You should set up shop. It's no worse than your current digs."

"Good point!" he said in mock excitement. "I could be quite comfortable here, actually. Clean the taint off the floor, maybe hang a few pictures... It might even be a step up from Darktown."

"A new base of operations for Kirkwall's mage underground," he suggested.

"It's got potential..." he mused with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around his waist. Varric snorted and Carver rolled his eyes as they continued to search for a way out.

As they searched, they were set upon by more and more Darkspawn and fewer and fewer dwarves. It seemed as if Anders' episodes were getting worse as well, the closer they got to the tower. They stumbled upon a note in a small makeshift camp by a Warden that was fairly recently written.

_All we hear is that this is one of the great Grey Warden secrets. 'It must be protected at all costs'. As usual, we're most concerned with deceiving our own people. But why hide that the Deep Roads were shaped not only by dwarves, but also by us?_

_I found records dating back to 1004 TE, the wake of the First Blight. Early Wardens discovered that some Darkspawn could think and speak and commanded portions of the Horde even after the Archdemon's death. A few could wield magic with the skill of a Tevinter Magister, and the Wardens greatly feared them._

_It was here, in the Vinmark Montains, that Warden Sashamiri set her trap to capture and study the greatest of these creatures, the one whom they called Corypheus._

At least the note gave them a bit of insight into what Corypheus was. So he was no demon at all, but an ancient Darkspawn. Anders frowned over her shoulder as he read, obviously giving a great deal of thought to something, even as distracted as he looked. During one of his episodes, Anders decided it was time to poke at Carver. "So, templar. Is the order everything you wished for? Pithed any good mages lately? That's what you do now, right? It must wear on you, given your lineage. No wonder you're quiet."

He continued to prod until Carver turned a snarl on him. "Be grateful. For some reason my brother cares for you. Be thankful, understood?"

Anders glared at him, but thankfully Garrett stepped between them. "Helmet and Staffy should learn to get along," he scolded mockingly, leading Anders away from Carver by the elbow.

Varric intervened before it got worse, placing himself beside Carver and saying loudly, "I'll bet the Knight-Commander was thrilled one of her templars was attacked in the Gallows."

"Ecstatic," Carver agreed, still glaring at Anders.

"Did she make you clean up the mess?" he teased.

Carver finally looked down at Varric and sighed, calming before grinning. "We hired some dwarves. Proper ones, with swabbing beards."

Varric rubbed his own shaved chin and mumbled with sarcasm. "Good to know the Paragons have steady work."

Garrett stopped them short with a hand up as Philippa also noticed a figure crouched behind a crumbled pillar ahead. When the figure noticed them, it shot up and hurried as quickly toward them as his bent and twisted form would allow. His hair and beard were balding in patches and the smell of taint, which was quickly becoming unforgettable, was all over him. He was dressed in shabby and beaten down heavy Warden armor. His eyes were glassy and discolored as they looked at Garrett in shock. "The key! Did they find it? The dwarves? I heard them... looking... digging... How do you bring the key here?" His voice sounded rough and unused to speech.

"You mean this?" Garrett asked, holding the twisted dagger up to be examined. "How is this a key?"

"Magic, old magic, it is. Magic from the blood. It made the seals. It can destroy them," he rasped.

"We came in here to find Corypheus. Do you know where... or what... he is?" Philippa wondered, moving beside her twin. He had obviously been here quite some time, maybe he had answers.

"Do not say his name!" the ghoul gasped. "He will hear you! Do not wake him. Not when you hold the key!"

"Let me guess," Garrett sighed as the crouched man hovered near them, continuously reaching out and pulling back as if having an inner struggle. "You want to drink my blood, too?"

"Blood?" he wondered. "The blood of the Hawke? Are you the Hawke?" he inhaled, putting him closer to Philippa, in spite of Garrett holding the key, before he drew back and wrung his hands together. "Yes. I smell magic on you. But _you_ hold the key!" He pointed to Garrett. "The key to his death... Yes, I can show you out, yes."

He nodded vigorously as Garrett moved slightly ahead of her, obviously perturbed by his attention on his twin. He was unlike any ghoul she had ever heard about. His ability to speak was a feat on it's own. "Who are you? What's wrong with you?" she asked around Garrett's shoulder.

"You ask me that? I am the one who belongs here, not you. You are no Darkspawn," he snapped defensively.

"He's in Grey Warden armor," Anders pointed out. "Maybe he used to be one?"

The man nodded. "You hear it, no? Hear it calling? I smell it in you," he growled, his attention drawn to Anders and then to Bethany. "I know the way out. Follow me. Down and in. Down and in."

Garrett snorted. "Because I always like to follow the advice of tainted, crazy people..."

"Not crazy, no. Trust me. I know the prison's secrets..." the Warden twitched and fidgeted as he spoke, but he was making a bit of sense. "The seals hold us in. Anything comes in, nothing ever leaves. Not without the key. You must use it, yes. On the seals. Every seal, you touch the key to it. Only then they open. Only for the Hawke." She turned to pace briefly as she realized that he was telling them to use blood magic to escape. The thought gave her a queasy feeling. "Not back. Not up. Only way out is down and through the heart. Down... Down in the depths..." With that, he ran off and disappeared into the cracked and broken darkness around the tower.

"Well, that made everything much clearer," Anders grumbled.

They found another note at another camp along the path and read it quickly to see if there was any more insight.

_The Grey Wardens' prison in the Vinmark Mountains is believed to have been constructed more than a thousand years ago. The original method of construction has been lost to history, but the Warden-Commanders of the Free Marches have maintained the prison's secret through the centuries._

_The prison is concealed in a great rift in the Vinmark Mountains, far from any easily-traveled mountain passes. The Wardens themselves have spread rumors of banditry and beasts to prevent explorers from approaching. The prison consists of a central tower built into the rift with magically-maintained bridges allowing access at different levels. Each level is sealed by a blood magic ritual in which a mage of untainted blood uses his own life essence to create a magical barrier that is permeable from the outside yet impenetrable from within. This one-way access has caused other Darkspawn... and perhaps unwary travelers... to be caught within the prison's confines. Those who disappear inside never re-emerge._

"How cheery," Philippa grumbled before leaving the note and following the others out.

"I've tried to forget about this side of myself," Anders said from Garrett's side, although his words were not spoken privately, his volume loud enough for everyone to be privy. She wasn't certain it was intentional. "Justice is... so strong, sometimes the Wardens seem insignificant. But seeing that poor bastard brings it all back. The Darkspawn taint, the call of the Archdemon... It's inside me, as much a part of me as Justice."

"Ooh, baby, tell me more..." Garrett said, attempting to draw the melancholy from him.

He sighed and cringed. "You should find someone else, love. You don't want all the ugliness I'm going to bring into your life."

His attempt to push Garrett away seemed to only make her brother inch closer to him. He grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Nobody's perfect."

"I've got to hand it to you, Blondie. You make that work every time..." Varric said with a bemused grin.

They rounded a corner that circled the central spire of the tower and Philippa noticed a dais in the middle of the room. Green magical energy surrounded the space, where four urns were set at equal intervals around the glyph on the ground. She could feel different types of magic resonating inside the urns. As she approached, the hair on her arms and neck stood at attention, the air charged. The second she stepped onto the dais to examine the spell more closely, the magic expanded and burst with an audible pop. A demon manifested before her and she backpedaled to get away from the hulking figure, her head exploding in agony. It was shaped like a demon of Pride, but instead of electricity coursing against its skin and giving it a purple hue, it was as fiery as a rage demon. Garrett lunged with the key, leaping for the demon with a shout to draw it's attention from her so she could get out from under it's feet. They whittled away at the beast, each of them taking turns drawing it's attention for the others to attack. When it finally fell under Carver's blade, the Warden reappeared from the shadows looking quite pleased.

"Let me guess," Garrett said rubbing his hands together. "The first seal?"

"Two thousand years," he marveled, limping toward the dais. "The magic holds. Never broken. Give it the key. Let it take the magic back to itself. Absorb it, all who came before..."

He backed away and Garrett stepped back up to the dais. The magic called to Philippa as Garrett approached the urn that seemed to house lightning magic. It was the same urn she would have chosen. Holding the key out before him, the urn offered up the power it held. The key drank up the magic like a man lost in the desert. The rest of the urns went dormant and the lightning trickled up his arm from the dagger.

"The blood works. It is good," the Warden said greedily.

"All this talk about my blood is a little creepy," Garrett admitted. "Are you at least planning to tell me your name?"

"Name..." he said as if the word were foreign. "So long since I've said my name. La... Larius! I was Larius!" He shook his head and frowned as he paced. "There... was a title, too. Commander... Commander of the Grey."

"He was a Warden," Anders confirmed with a sigh. "Poor wretch must have come down here on his Calling..."

"Yes! The Calling... the songs get louder. Only death stops them. I am dead. But I never died," Larius agreed.

Philippa nearly felt the flutter in Garrett's heart as he spun to glance at Anders whose expression was stricken as he saw the concern in his eyes. "Anders? What are you talking about?"

He cringed and took his hand. "Wardens aren't immune to the taint forever. In time, we start to hear voices. The same ones Darkspawn hear. That's when they send you into the Deep Roads to die."

His confession threw her. She knew Wardens made sacrifices, but she wondered how long most lived. She glanced at Bethany. Garrett's mask slipped just a little bit. She turned back to Larius as Garrett asked with a choked voice, "I've opened the seal. Will the prison release us?"

"There are more. Follow them in. All the way to the heart. Many locks. Only one key." Suddenly, he jerked to the side and Anders twitched, his head cocking to the side. Philippa turned to Bethany and saw her frowning as well. "C-Corypheus calls! In the Darkness! What waits there?" He ran off again and Garrett looked questioningly at Anders.

His smile was meant to reassure, but his knuckles whitened in Garrett's hand as he visibly fought the urge to strain his ears to listen. What was he hearing? She was concerned. He had been struggling since they'd arrived. They moved forward and didn't make it far before Anders grumbled. "I'm not listening. I'm _not_ listening."

As Philippa grabbed his hand to ground him, Garrett walking ahead, his shoulders slumped, Varric offered his insight. "Come on, Blondie. You're strong enough to overcome this."

Philippa wasn't so certain at this point. She had never seen Anders so distressed. Her concerns for him were temporarily pushed to the back of her mind as they were set upon by more roving Darkspawn before descending to the next floor to hunt for the next seal. At the bottom of the stairs, they found another of the trapped demons, her magic breaking the binding so they could kill the shade. The voice repeated itself and a sudden coldness descended upon her as he uttered a phrase so familiar she could hear him saying it as if he were standing right in front of her. "Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be. I may have left the Circle, but I took a vow. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."

She shuddered, lifting her palm to glance at the hum of magic as it pooled in her hand before dissipating. "Father used to say that. I remember..." Bethany moved to her side, taking her free hand. She balled her fist and swallowed the emotion that was rising in her throat. In spite of his own current distraction, Anders rubbed a hand up and down Garrett's spine comfortingly as his face twisted into hurt. How had their father gotten mixed up with the Wardens?

More questions and Garrett's obvious desire to get Anders the void away from this place pushed them to move forward. The Darkspawn were thicker, the deeper they went and concerns mounted as she kept close watch on herself and anyone else susceptible to the taint. Another binding followed close behind and again the voice spoke. She whimpered as he explained to whomever might be listening. "Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be. I've bought our freedom, Leandra. We can go home now, us and the twins. We'll be together. I hope they take after you, love. I would wish this magic on no one. May they never learn what I've done here."

She gaped. " 'The twins?' He... he's talking about us. All those things he did, he did for us, for his family."

Garret moved to her side and pulled her against him as Anders spoke softly. "It must be overwhelming to hear your father's voice again. How are you feeling?" His question was directed at Garrett.

She fell into her twin's embrace, sorting through the jumble of emotion as it surged through her. Garrett chuckled softly, his voice rumbling against her as he spoke about their father. "Father always liked popping out of nowhere to startle us children. It would make us scream with laughter. It's nice to know that hasn't changed."

Bethany and Carver were in a similar embrace when Philippa pulled away from Garrett. He held on to her, still, his arm around her shoulders as they left the fading memory of their father. His opposite hand took Bethany's and Carver took Philippa's. The four Hawke siblings, together, sharing the burden of the knowledge that their father had used blood magic to gain his freedom so he and their mother could be together. It didn't matter who they had become or how far apart they had been drawn in recent years. They would always have each other.

Anders' distraction seemed to be getting worse and worse. Before they made it to the next key, he shouted loudly, startling Philippa. "No! Get out of my head!" Garrett's arm tightened around her briefly as he cringed.

She simply shrugged helplessly when Garret looked to her for advice, and flicked her eyes to Anders who seemed to have come back to himself for the moment. She allowed Garrett to place Bethany's hand in hers and he fell in beside Anders to keep an eye on him. Then she spotted Larius on the path ahead. She took in the awful look of him and tried to shove the image of Anders and Bethany slowly succumbing to the taint out of her mind as it flashed by unbidden. "He is waking," Larius said as they approached. "The magic grows lax. He feels us walk where no step goes."

"Are you talking about Corypheus?" she asked, taking over so Garrett could stay beside Anders.

Larius nodded. "He calls. Like an Old God. He mimics their cry."

"Can the rest of you hear him? I figured it was just me," Anders asked desperately.

"I can," Bethany admitted softly.

"He calls them to free him. The dark children and the light, any with taint in their blood," Larius explained.

"If Corypheus isn't an Old God, what is he? Human, demon, Darkspawn?" she asked, practically begging for answers.

"More than Darkspawn. More than human. He thinks. He talks. He pierces the Veil."

Anders grunted. "An awakened Darkspawn, an emissary. When I was with the Wardens in Amaranthine, we met an emissary like that. Powerful, persuasive. I didn't realize there were others."

"He wants what was once his," Larius said.

"How could this Corypheus be sending people after us if he's asleep?" she wondered.

"He can call, dream, but not know." The explanations were getting more cryptic and Philippa was developing a headache. "When the seals are gone, he will wake. And he must die."

Another thing was nagging at the back of her mind. "Why are you down here? How have you survived?"

"The Calling. The music. It is our death."

Anders nodded slowly. "The Wardens say once the Corruption goes far enough, the Darkspawn can't sense you anymore." He glanced at Garrett with sadness, hanging his head. "They'd think he's one of them. He'd be in no danger on that front."

"Yes," Larius said simply. "I lived, but I died. The Corruption feeds me. So many years in darkness..."

"When you run off, where do you go?" she wondered, having only seen the one path that they had been following. He was getting around much faster than them.

"I know the darkness before the seals. Here, the voice is too strong." He turned and began to hobble off again. "I cannot stay!"

She sighed and watched him disappear again. "That is really getting old," she mumbled.

They soon found themselves out of the structure and mucking through a squishy bog-like area complete with a thick fog that swirled around their feet as they walked. Anders grumbled. "Ugh. This is much... wetter... than I remember the Deep Roads."

Philippa started to notice signs of dwarven activity, although it was ancient, half buried and covered in filth. She felt herself smiling as she imagined Finn's first trip into the Deep Roads and the ensuing panic it must have caused him. It was times like this when she missed him terribly. Varric paused as they passed a corpse and spoke for the first time since he had tried to talk Anders from the brink, drawing her from her thoughts. "That looks like Legion of the Dead armor. It's an Orzammar thing. No matter your crime, if you join the Legion and vow to die fighting Darkspawn, your name is cleared."

Anders chuckled. "I had a friend from the Legion once, a girl named Sigrun. Not nearly as dour as you'd expect."

Philippa could see the trail that would lead them to the next tower and back upwards through the seals. She hoped. She had been so eager for adventure, but now it was turning into a nightmare. She made her way with the others through the mushy terrain and cringed at every clinging bit of mud that tried to grab at her feet and hold them in place. Aside from the occasional deep stalker and some more Darkspawn, the stroll was quiet. That was until Anders began to fall behind. He shouted again, his features twisted in anger. "Stop! Just make him stop talking! Make him stop!"

Varric chuffed and said, "Hang in there, Blondie. We're going to get you out of this."

She paused to glance over her shoulder at him just as he doubled over and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and then grabbed his temples. He cried out in pain and she moved to take a step toward him. "What's wrong?" Garrett begged as he thrashed.

"I can't...the voices... W-Wardens... the Joining... I have too much taint in my blood. I can't shut him out...." he looked up at Garrett, his eyes pleading. "Help me, love..." he winced again and gritted his teeth. "I will not..." She felt the drastic pull on the veil around them as Justice reared his ugly face, splitting Anders' skin, the blue spirit energy cracking through. It looked just as it had in the Fade. Anders had been suppressed. When he stood from his crouch, Anders was gone. Justice growled as mage fire erupted around him. "... be controlled!" he roared.

"I can't take you anywhere!" Garrett growled angrily right back at the spirit. From the sneer on Anders' face, Justice was ready to try and kill them.

Justice pulled Anders' staff and crackling electricity surged through it. He slammed the butt on the ground and two shades appeared at his back, making her cringe. Garrett charged for Anders, singling out Justice. Philippa threw a stone fist for his gut and knocked him back so the shades were in front of him. It was deliberate, so Carver would be able to take them out without hurting Anders. Garrett skirted the shades as Carver engaged them. Garrett was knocked back by a glyph of repulsion, falling in a heap. Bethany erected a minor paralysis glyph to keep Justice in place. Philippa called more magic and cast a mana drain, siphoning Anders' mana so Justice couldn't use it. She gasped at the level of power he held in his core. She was lucky she was used to her own somniari enhanced energy. Had he always had all of that power, or was it directly related to Justice? She took in all that she could and then poured the rest into her staff. The glyph wore off and Justice realized what she had done. With a growl of rage, he rushed for her, gripping Ander's staff like a sword and swinging it for her head. She ducked the swing and used her own staff to jab into his chest, the blow backed by physical magic. She was trying her hardest not to hurt Anders too much. Just enough to make Justice rush off and lick his wounds. He stumbled back with the force of her blow and she swung the staff around again, connecting with his side. She cringed as she heard the crack of his ribs and he fell to the ground, landing hard on his back, the air whooshing from his lungs with the impact. She felt Justice defeated as he began to slip back insde, and Anders rolled gingerly to his side. She rushed to him, steadying hands on his shoulders after she dropped to her knees next to him. The cracks along his skin faded and he reached around himself to grip his aching side. He hissed and attempted to sit up. "I'm so sorry," she apologized.

He shook his head, allowing her to inch closer and touch her hand to his chest and return some of his magic and heal his cracked ribs. "Thank you, Phil." She helped him to his feet and he leaned on her only briefly before the healing took effect. "I... I guess they're right. You never can leave the Wardens. I hope I can hold against him. Against them both..."

"Would distracting you with a kiss help?" Garrett asked jokingly, as he limped over to them, taking the leaning mage against him, trying to cover up his concern. At his somber look, Garrett pouted. "No?"

"Come on, I can see the next seal," Varric grumbled.

Philippa stopped them only briefly to examine the cause of Garrett's limp and patch him up. The next seal was guarded by another bound Pride demon that continuously made illusory clones of itself, making it impossible to focus on killing it. After chasing around it's copies for nearly ten minutes, Philippa's head was throbbing unbearably. They were finally able to drop it and Garrett let the key pull the mana back into itself again, opening the way forward. As they crossed the path toward the stairs that would lead them up into the main tower, the ground rumbled beneath them. As Philippa stumbled, Larius appeared again. "He feels the seals weaken. He knows you are close. You must be ready..." Then he jerked his head around like a cat that heard something interesting. "What's that? Who? No... no. They're here!"

Philippa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, her head still aching. "Who is it this time? Puddles the Turtle? The Holy Cheese-wheel of Andraste?"

"The Wardens," he corrected. "They listen to Corypheus. They want to bring him the light. Stop them. You must stop them." He limped away and disappeared around the base of the tower just as a group of four people came around the other side. They were all dressed in similar Warden armor. From the look of the armor, two were rogues, one a warrior and the leader, a mage.

The mage was distracted as she spoke to the warrior. "Something's happening. The prison's breaking down. But it's stood up to tunneling before. What can..." Then she noticed them and gasped. "You! You have the key! And you've come through the seals. But how? Champion? Are you the one? The same Hawke, child of Malcolm? The Carta said they were close. You must be him. I am Janeka. I lead this unit of Grey Wardens." She was looking directly at Garrett.

"Seems everyone's interested in your father," Varric mumbled.

"Then you don't know?" Janeka said with a frown. "Without Malcolm, this prison would have fallen thirty years ago."

Garrett took the key in his hand and said, "Let me guess, it had something to do with this fancy thing?"

"The Grey Wardens built this prison to contain one of the most powerful Darkspawn we've ever encountered. But even the best magic fades. The Wardens need to reinforce the seals. This requires the blood of a mage untainted by... Warden training. The last to perform the ritual was your father."

"Our father was a blood mage?" Philippa gasped, her eyes widening.

"To avert the Blights, forbidden magics are sometimes necessary. He did not bind the demons, if that is your concern. That was done in another era, before the Chantry's laws," Janeka explained with an acceptance that any sane person should be uncomfortable with.

Garrett sighed. "Why do my family stories never involve embarrassing vacations in Antiva?"

"We need your help Hawke," Janeka said, ignoring the quip. "I have done extensive research on this Darkspawn and I believe the original Wardens were wrong. He isn't a threat to humanity... he's our greatest opportunity. A Darkspawn who can talk, feel, reason..."

She was interrupted as Laruius reappeared from the shadows, outraged. "Corypheus cares nothing for Blights. He used you!"

The warrior gaped. "The Warden-Commander!"

"Don't listen to this... creature. He's half Darkspawn himself," Janeka growled. "I know how to harness Corypheus, use his magic to end the Blights."

"No!" Larius insisted. "The Wardens knew. Corypheus is too powerflul."

"Don't do it Hawke," Anders begged. "The Warden-Commander made a deal with one of these. We still don't know the consequences."

Varric apparently disagreed. "Worth the risk. If he doesn't help, it's one more big Darkspawn to stick a bolt in. No big deal."

"Corypheus calls her, and she listens. She brought him the Carta, sent them for you!" Larius accused.

"You must help us!" Janeka countered angrily.

Garrett looked overwhelmed with everyone seemingly looking to him because he was carrying the key. Philippa shook her head and piped up, curious at the logic. "Why would this Darkspawn want to end the Blights?"

Janeka jumped on the opportunity to plead her case. "He is no mindless monster. This search for the Old Gods comes at a terrible cost to his people."

"This sounds very familiar," Anders sighed.

"He tricked you!" Larius said desperately to Janeka. "These are not your thoughts, they are his Calling."

"How many of them died in Ferelden alone? And that was the least of the Blights," Janeka countered.

"How could you trust any deal this Darkspawn makes with you?" Garrett asked her curtly.

"Do not think me foolish, Hawke. I am making no deal. I have a spell which can control Corypheus, bind him to my will." Philippa hated the sound of that. "He will be a new, important weapon in the war on the Blights. No more, no less."

"Are you talking about using Blood Magic?" Carver growled.

"Everything that was done to him was through the power of blood. The Wardens imprisoned Corypheus before the Chantry banned such magic. It is the only way to hold him," Janeka said nonchalantly.

Bethany nodded her agreement. "Corypheus may be as great a threat as the next Blight. We can't risk freeing him."

Janeka's lip curled back and she stared down Garrett. "We'll find a way to do this with or without you, Hawke. This prison _will_ be broken. The Blights will end. Come!" She backed up as she called to her companions. They rushed away and Janeka pulled her staff to throw a fireball at their feet before they could give chase. Angry, Philippa pushed her own magic outwards, blowing out the flames, but Janeka was already gone.

"With me! We will beat them to the seal!" Larius called, already limping toward one of his shortcuts. They followed. When they made their way inside the tower, Larius stopped them and pointed to an urn that was similar in shape to the ones that circled the seals. This one looked to be dormant. "This... this was part of the prison's defenses from centuries ago. Old wards... unstable, dangerous. The Wardens had them neutralized. Bringing them back to life will stall Janeka."

Philippa reached out tentatively to touch her palm to the urn. The metal was cold to her touch and she siphoned a bit of mana into it. It flared to life with a pop and her nerves hummed. She could feel the entire nexus of wards around the tower, guiding her to which ones would open her a path. It was powerful magic. "If Larius is right about Corypheus, we're going to have to hurry," Anders said, placing a hand on Garrett's shoulder to gently urge them forward.

When they entered the first large chamber at the base of the tower, the entire room was filled with pillars housing dozens of the urns. "Do not touch anything!" Larius warned vehemently. The old defenses are active again. Very unpredictable, very dangerous."

From the other side of the room, a group of dwarves ran in and the first one said," There! That's the one Janeka wants dead!"

"You do Janeka's bidding?" Bethany crossed her arms and glared.

"Janeka shared knowledge of Corypheus with the Carta. When she releases the Master, we will be rewarded," the speaker growled.

Garrett sighed. "How many of you are there? I thought I dealt with you already..."

The speaker grinned deviously and glanced around at the urns. "We may die here, but we will take you with us."

"No! Don't!" Larius shouted as the dwarf bolted for the nearest pillar and spun the closest set of urns. A barrier sprung up behind the Carta, blocking them in the room. Philippa grimaced and drew her weapon.

"To arms, and pray that Corypheus honors our sacrifice!" Apparently they were no longer trying to keep them alive or preserve their blood. The dwarves spread out around the room and attacked. Larius pulled out his rusty greatsword, lending a hand as best he could to fend off the attack. Philippa was careful where she slung her magic, not to make the situation worse. When the crazed dwarves fell, she moved to study the barriers.

"Trapped," Larius spat. "Carta fools, always where they don't belong. This shouldn't have happened."

" 'Don't touch anything' is usually an invitation to touch everything. Didn't you know?" she asked him over her shoulder as she recognized a stream of magic connecting every urn that faced each other the stream was present from two corners of the room. She frowned and Larius paced.

"Always a punishment for playing with things you don't understand." he rubbed his patchy balding head and then glanced around. "There is a way out. Deep down, a small memory, a fading thought... I've been here before. Yes, yes. Think. There must be a way. I was here once before, a long time ago. The magic... the magic flows in streams. They must be joined for the way to open. Yes... that's it," he said victoriously.

Phillippa moved to her right where the magic was flowing from the corner. It stopped three pillars away and she glanced around to figure out which one she needed to turn to reconnect it with the opposite corner. Choosing a pillar, she reached up with the end of her staff and latched it on the iron foundation of the two urns on the pillar. With a tug, the urns spun, connecting the stream to the pillar. The second urn on that pillar was now facing the center of the room, so she walked across to the one opposite and noted where the rest of the magic was streaming from. Twisting two more of the pillars connected the stream and she felt the barriers fall.

"That's it! It worked!" Larius celebrated. "Quickly now. We've a ways to go yet!" He hurried forward and kept stopping to hustle Philippa and the others forward as she couldn't help craning her neck to take in the impressive structure. He was shaking his head and finally said, "The Hawke was fascinated by the old construction. Always stopping to examine the carvings. A learned man." It made her smile that she had so easily reminded Larius of her father.

She pushed ahead, guiding them to the urns as her part in rekindling the magic tugged at her. Unfortunately, they eventually crossed paths with Janeka. "Did you really think those old wards would stop me?" she asked, pushing casually away from leaning on the wall as if she had been waiting for them. She glared at Larius as she approached. "Look at you, barely able to string two thoughts together. You've only made it this far because of Hawke."

"You can still turn away. Do not listen to his voice!" Larius begged her.

"You're a fool, Larius, and you should have died here years ago." Her staff was in her hands and Philippa felt the pull of a summoning. A revenant appeared, immediately jamming its sword into the ground and chucking it's whip-like chain for Larius. Philippa dipped out of the way, backing up as Larius fell, his feet yanked out from under him by the pull of the chain. Several arcane horrors sprouted up in the corners of the room, as Janeka fled, to protect and heal the revenant.

"Well, that just isn't fair," Philippa growled as she slipped to the edge of the room to observe the magical connections around the revenant through the fresh throbbing that the demons drew to the surface of her forehead. The arcane horrors were using the magic of the mage corpses they were possessing to protect the revenant. Larius scrambled back to his feet as Carver hefted his sword as if he were going to rush toward the revenant. "Carver, no!" Philippa shouted before he took off, and his head snapped to her. He frowned. "It's protected. The horrors first!"

Everyone heard her shout, and Garrett danced out of the way of the revenant's chain as it whipped toward him, shifting his footwork so he could start in on the floating piles of bones draped in ragged robes. Soon, everyone had their own horror to contend with, slinging steel and magic all around the room. The revenant seemed to sense what she was, zeroing in on her after she had so spectacularly drawn attention to herself. Sweat dripped down her brow as she kept moving, dodging the heavy metal chain as it slammed, clanked and rattled just shy of it's mark. The revenant was casting a line, and she was the fish. It was only a matter of time. She tried to help the others, but every time she paused to cast, the chain whipped through the air. Finally, she had enough. When the chain next hit the ground, Philippa spitefully whipped her staff down and touched the head to the chain. Fire traveled up the chain toward the revenant, briefly welding the links to the ground so it delayed the thing from pulling it back. Then she instantaneously hit it with a frost spell. The sudden cold on top of the heat embrittled the chain and she dropped down, grabbed the chain and yanked back. One of the links in the middle snapped and she was propelled backwards with the momentum, half of the chain still in her hands. She got tripped up by the slack and fell on her ass.

Pissed that she had destroyed it's toy, the revenant bore down on her from across the room. She tossed the ruined chain aside and snatched her staff back up from where it laid on the floor beside her. The revenant was fast, looming over her within seconds. It raised it's sword and brought it down straight for her head. A quickly cast barrier stopped it, but still, she rolled out of the way onto her stomach so she could push to her feet. Once there, she Fade stepped away to regroup. The revenant followed, barely giving her time to reinforce the barrier and turn to see where it was. The sword came down again and she raised her staff to block the blade. The impact jarred her, pushing her arms downwards. The revenant lifted it's sword again and she quickly cast a mind blast to stun it so she could slip away again.

"Phil get away from that thing!" Garrett shouted.

"I'm bloody trying!" she retorted as she Fade stepped again. "Just take out those horrors! I'll distract it... apparently."

One by one, slowly, the horrors fell, breaking down the thick shielding around the revenant. She could feel it's defenses beginning to whittle away. It was time to go on the offensive. She spun, throwing a winter's grasp spell at her pursuer, but instead of freezing in place, it shook off the spell like she had never cast it. Wishing she had a moment to breathe and kick herself for forgetting that revenants were basically immune to frost spells, she growled angrily and as she ran twisted a glyph into the air with her fingers. Then she spun and pushed mana through the glyph, releasing a torrent of tiny spirit bolts. Most of them connected, but the revenant shrugged off a few, lifting it's large round shield to deflect the magic. Next, she touched her staff to the ground and with the butt, flicked a cone of fire toward the revenant, creating a space between her and it that it would be stupid to try and cross. With the second that gave her, she prepared a crushing prison and slipped the glyph beneath it's feet. Then she drew the magic upwards in a cylinder around the creature. She hugged the magic tighter around it, crushing it like one would ball up a sheet of parchment. It's shield clattered to the ground followed by it's sword. Then the revenant's metal pieces of armor began to dent and crumble. The dropped sword, trapped inside the prison with it, scraped across the floor and then twisted upwards, pointing into the revenant's gut. Philippa balled her hands into fists, controlling the squeeze of the magic. The sword pierced whatever flesh was remaining on the reanimated corpse, and it shrieked, making her throbbing head at least ten times worse.

Her body caught up with the strain and she stumbled, dropping her hands and the prison. When the magic receded, the revenant's body fell to the ground with a muffled clatter. She touched her fingertips to her forehead and the world spun around her. Before she followed the revenant to the ground, someone caught her. "Whoa, there."

She recognized Garrett's voice and huddled against him. "Did I get it?" she asked, her vision swimming.

"Yes, sister. You got it..." he said gruffly. As he held her aloft, she felt him shift. "Anders..."

A shadow moved into place beside Garrett and he reached out to touch her forehead. "She isn't hurt. She told me once that the presence of demons affects her differently than a normal mage."

"She gets terrible migraines," Bethany's soft voice agreed from not far off.

Anders' healing magic hummed in the air and some of the fog over her vision lifted. "She also used a ridiculous amount of mana against that revenant," Anders explained. A spell of rejuvenation caressed over her skin. When she opened her eyes, gathering her feet underneath herself, Anders smiled at her. "Phil, did you bring any lyrium potions?"

She nodded slowly. "Carver... has them."

"Meredith wasn't exactly liberal with handing over a bunch of lyrium potions," Carver grumbled as he approached. "But this should do the trick."

He handed one of the tiny vials filled with the glowing blue liquid to Anders who popped the cork for her. "Drink up, Phil. You'll feel better."

The metallic tasting potion almost immediately made a marked improvement in her ability to stand on her own two feet, singing through her veins and restoring what mana was still missing after Anders' spell.

When he saw her standing again, Larius shuffled closer. "We must hurry!" he urged.

They followed after Larius, leaving the room that Janeka had meant to be their tomb and heading up a crooked set of stairs. It led them up out of the Deep Roads and past the top of the chasm ledge. It felt liberating to breathe fresh air again, but the view still left a lot to be desired. The top of the prison jutted up before them, the closer look making her cling even more tightly to the hand that Garrett had kept locked with hers. It was topped with a dome, four griffon statues encircling the open area beneath. Visible waves of golden magic swirled from the statues to the center where the final seal stood. "Oh!" Varric said in awe. "That's nice!"

"What's so nice about it?" Garrett asked skeptically as they began to cross the bridge over the chasm that led to the seal. The wind whipped past them, and she inhaled deeply, glad to be out of the depths.

"I was just wondering what someplace sinister and foreboding would look like. And here it is," he remarked, gesturing with his hand.

Just before they crossed into the tower from the bridge, Janeka appeared with the other Wardens. "You're too late, Larius. Hand over the Hawkes, and I'll give you a quick death."

"The Hawkes have made their choice... the right one," Larius argued.

"The right choice, or the only choice? Malcolm Hawke was not allowed to disagree," Janeka said with a victorious sneer.

Larius' sputtered reaction made Garrett drop her hand and turn to scowl directly at the ghoul. "It is the past. It doesn't matter!"

"Larius?" Philippa demanded, moving up beside her twin. "What does Janeka mean by 'not allowed'?"

Larius frowned and turned a glare on the other Wardens. "How does she know this? Alec, did you tell her? Malcolm Hawke was reluctant, had to be... persuaded." Larius turned away to gaze out over the chasm below. "I was Warden-Commander. It was my duty. I delivered an ultimatum... help us, or you'll never see her again."

Garrett growled in anger. "You were going to kill our mother!"

"No, never! He came with us. I never had to decide her fate," Larius pleaded, turning back to them and begging the siblings to see. "She was never told about what passed between Malcolm and me."

"You see, Hawke," Janeka pushed, singling out Garrett. "How can you trust anything Larius says?"

Philippa took the level headed role as her siblings all glared angrily at Larius. "Larius' threats were reprehensible, but he's still right about Corypheus."

Janeka sighed. "You can come willingly or not. I just need your blood."

The threat was clear as she and the other Wardens drew their weapons. After what they had just fought through, Janeka and a few Wardens were a walk in the park. Bethany swiped her arm outwards before Janeka could even blink. The spell crackled around the tower, thick bolts of lightning striking every few feet, frying the Wardens and leaving scorch marks on the ground.

"He stirs," Larius said urgently as the magic calmed and the Wardens laid dead. "Slay him now, before he wakes. Before his strength comes. The key. It's not strong enough. Use your blood. Free him and slay him."

Philippa stepped inside the tower with the others. The magic felt oddly familiar and the key pulsed in Garrett's hand, reaching out to her Carver and Bethany as well. She observed the workings of the spell, breaking it down in her mind, her eyes closed as she reached out to feel the flow of mana. They would need to go around to the four statues and dispel the wards around them before Garrett approached the seal. She moved deliberately toward the first statue, the magic primed in her palm. When she touched the griffon's clawed foot, an audible pop sounded and the golden mana slowly flowed away from the statue and back toward the center. "It worked!" Anders gasped. "You can see the binding spell's already weakened."

"Just three more to go," she mused as she stepped away from the statue and headed around the circumference of the tower.

Bethany dispelled the second statue, and the air began to become thick. "Are you certain this is a good idea?" Carver said warily.

"It takes Hawke blood to open his prison. I imagine he won't stop until he has what he wants," Philippa pointed out, moving for the next staute.

After the third statue, Anders said through gritted teeth. "He's almost free now."

The air suddenly thinned rapidly and Varric hummed. "You feel that? It's like... something is lifting." They all converged on the last statue and as she reached for the claw, Varric grunted. "Last chance to change your mind."

When the dispel took hold, she turned and looked at the seal. The upraised dais was now accessible and the urns stood ready for the key. The others hovered around the edge of the tower's walls, watching as Garrett slowly climbed the tall stairs up to the dais. In the middle was a small well. He pulled a dagger from his belt and held it above his arm, the key still clutched in his left fist. He hesitated, a strange look on his face. After only a moment, he gritted his teeth and dug the blade across the side of his arm. The blood flowed freely, visibly dripping into the waiting well. When the well was full, Philippa could feel the magic waiting for the key. Garrett seemed to feel it too, slipping his other knife away and letting go of the key so it hovered from his grasp to float above the seal, glowing brightly as it absorbed the golden magic that was swirling around the dais. Then suddenly, he was thrown from the dais, landing hard on the ground between them and the seal, the key landing beside him. He scurried to his feet, grabbing the dagger and readying himself for anything. Philippa moved to his side, touching a hand to his shoulder. He had a few scrapes from hitting the ground, but otherwise, he seemed fine. As the others grouped around them and Garrett brushed himself off, Philippa glanced up at the creature manifesting from the magic. It swirled up from beneath the ground like a ballet dancer, twirling in place. It was anything but beautiful, however.

It reminded her of a Darkspawn emissary like they had seem along the way through the deep roads, but different. There was an intelligence behind it's eyes when it glanced around after being set down on it's feet. The look made her uneasy. It had on a long mage robe below a mostly bare chest, the skin fused with what could have been metal armor at some point. It was tall and skeletal, it's shoulders only as wide as they were because of the furry pauldrons that jutted out from another metal piece around it's neck. It's face was much like it's body, the skin stretched around pieces of jagged stone that stuck out at odd angles. What really made her shudder was when it opened it's deformed mouth and spoke in a deep eldritch voice. "Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?" His gaze finally fell on her and the others and Anders cringed. He pointed a long skeletal finger at them and continued. "You! Serve you at the temple of Dumat? Bring me hence! I must speak with the first acolyte!"

"Dumat..." Anders said in wonder. "was the first Old God to become an Archdemon. There haven't been temples to him since ancient Tevinter."

"You look human," the creature said in awe. "Are you not citizens of the Empire? Slaves then, to the dwarves? Why come you here?" He tipped his head in curiosity before almost shrugging. "Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any Magister of Tevinter. On your knees! All of you!"

Philippa nearly snorted. "You're a Darkspawn. Dark...spawn..." she repeated slowly. "Ravaging the Deep Roads, spreading the Blight. Does this ring a bell?"

Her tone drew his attention to her and he narrowed his eyes. "You are what held me. I smell the blood in you." He glanced around again as if taking in his surroundings before turning his face to the sky and calling out. "Dumat! Lord! Tell me. What waking dream is this?" he paused and when he obviously got no answer, he hung his head and mumbled. "The light. We sought the golden light. You offered... the power of the gods themselves. But it was... black... corrupt. Darkness... ever since. How long?"

"The Golden City," Larius gasped. "The first violation. The Magisters who brought the Blight."

"That's ridiculous!" Anders snapped. "There were no magical bogeymen who trespassed in the Maker's city. It's a story."

Garrett shrugged. "Unless Corypheus is for real, everyone who knows what happened is long dead."

Anders pursed his lips and offered them a disbelieving smile. "You don't think it's a little convenient? What does every sane man and woman in Thedas fear? The Blights. Why not pin those on mages too?"

Corypheus interrupted their debate. "What manner of speech is this? How long have I slumbered?"

"He tainted the world," Larius accused. "He speaks to all who carry the corruption. Darkspawn, Wardens. He brought Janeka here. Brought you..."

"If he's been calling the Wardens to free him, what's his plan? He seems confused," Bethany pointed out.

"He slept. While the seals held, he could not wake. He knows nothing of time that passed," Larius said. "We must kill him now. Before he comes to."

Garrett puffed out his chest and grinned wryly. "First he went after the Maker in His house, then me in mine. I'm honored."

Corypheus suddenly seethed. "The city! It was supposed to be golden! It was supposed to be ours! If I cannot leave with you, I will leave through you! I seek the light!"

Larius turned and fled back out to the bridge as Corypheus took to the air, magic surrounding him. He floated down to their level, wrapping his arms around his core as if preparing to cast. She did not recognize the spell, but cast a barrier to encompass everyone. He unleashed the blast and they were all thrown backwards. It took her a moment to regain her equilibrium, but then she was casting. Every spell she could think of rattled off her fingers and into the staff in her hands. She had no idea how to fight an ancient Magister. She started with a dispel that did absolutely nothing. Crossing that off the list, she reached for offensive magic. She tested some smaller spells, not using too much mana, just to see what would hurt him. He seemed vulnerable to physical magic, so she grabbed hold to the air above him and yanked downwards, The Fist of the Maker staggered him, temporarily putting him on the ground. "I made your sacrifices, Lord. Strengthen me now!" he shouted as he got back up. He drew in his magic again and unleashed it in another burst of energy. He disappeared and seemingly teleported. As she looked around for him, her eyes landed on the dais as he called out again, his arms upraised. "Dumat! Grant me your powers!" He reached for the furthest griffon statue from them and the golden magic swirled from the bird's beak, dancing along the air to settle in his chest. "Ah! The fire in my veins!" he said exultantly. When the power was completely within him, he threw his hands to the sides and jets of flame began to pour from his palms as he spun in a slow circle. "You cannot avoid my fires!"

"You've got to be kidding me..." Philippa grumbled as she scurried out if the path of the flamethrowers that were his hands. She and the others clustered into the nearest statue alcove as the heat rushed past them, licking over her barriers.

He's absorbing power from the statues," Anders pointed out.

She poked her head out to see where the flames were. When they passed by their hiding place, she ducked out of cover and slapped her palm down on the statue's foot, attempting to weaken the fire. "We should destroy them! While we can!" Carver shouted. She attempted to slam a stonefist into the statue, but it was made of sturdier stuff.

"If you figure out how, do let me know," she grumbled as the second jet of flame approached. She was forced back into cover as it circled. Understanding that dispelling just one statue would not be enough, she moved out from the alcove and moved between the flames, heading counter clockwise toward the next statue while Corypheus mocked.

"I am an acolyte of Dumat! You cannot harm me!" The stench of demon filled the air and her head began to throb again as she dispelled the next statue and a pair of guardian shades popped up on either side of their cover. It was close quarters as they fought, but the shades went down easily enough. After that, each time they damaged a statue, the shades appeared, forcing them to expend energy to kill them while Corypheus spun, spewing his flames of death. When she'd taken out the last one, he reigned in the flames and shouted. "Perhaps a little something more!"

"Watch out!" Anders shouted as she watched him disappear again. When he reappeared, he was nearly on top of them. She repeated her testing of spells, focusing more on frost since he had been throwing flames at them like a dragon.

"Burn, you miserable insects!" he growled as he flung a fireball down among them.

"What? He has fire, now?" Varric complained, swiftly reloading Bianca.

"He absorbed it from the statue!" Anders explained as he traced a glyph in the air before him and then passed a barrage of ice shards through it. They raced through the air and slammed into Corypheus, most of them pinging off his metal chest plate.

The ones that did connect made him angry and he disappeared, porting to the dais again where he reached for another of the statues. "The power is mine! I am restored!" A great burst of green energy surged from him and he laughed maniacally. "Scurry, little rats! The maze closes in."

Bethany immediately dispelled the statue beside them already and they fought off the shades. When Philippa looked out to see him circling with his fire again, she also noticed that large chunks of rock had jutted up from the ground, creating a maze through the tower. "Now what?" she grumbled. It was going to make getting to each statue that much more difficult. She waited until the blaze of fire passed and followed it closely, trying to ignore the sweat that had broken out on her forehead. She skirted in and out of the rocks, looking for the shortest path to the next statue as the flames got away from her and the other side crept up behind. One wrong turn would make for a very crispy afternoon. Finally, they made it, slamming themselves in a tight balled group behind the wall for cover from the chasing flames. Leaning against Garrett as the flames licked around them all, she felt his heart pounding as quickly as hers. They were all feeling the strain of this fight. She was the first to step out, so she could dispel the statue.

"You will die before you touch me, worm!" Corypheus taunted from the safety of his dais.

Varric grumbled as the shades fell. "He's boxing us in. Find a clear path!"

She followed the same scurrying technique as she had, the flames feeling like they were even closer that time as they fell in behind the safety of the walls. She hated that she was doing exactly what he had said, scurrying like a rat. She slammed her palm down on the statue, dispelled the magic, killed the shades and moved on. Hating every step through the magical maze. He came at them again as the final statue was dispelled. "Here he comes!" Carver shouted, his sword at the ready.

Sweat was dripping from all their faces and a few of them had cuts and burns. None of them were leaving unscathed. She felt Anders gearing up to send healing out to them and she stopped him. "Save your mana. We're fine."

He frowned at her, but abandoned the uncast spell when Garrett nodded as Corypheus popped up between them. "He's covered in rock! We need to stun him, get it off!" Varric shouted as she noticed the rockarmor spell. It was the first spell he'd used that she was remotely familiar with. She spun her staff, gathering momentum to slam him with a physical blast of mana, drawing his attention. He was looking no worse for the wear compared to them and she batted him around a few more times, cracking him in the face with the head of her staff before he retreated to the center of the dais to draw from another of the statues.

"Dumat! Grant me your powers!" With both hands outstretched in opposite directions, he greedily lapped up the magic from the two remaining statues, his only sign of weakening that he felt the need to do both at once. "The lightning likes me! Feel the chill. You cannot outrun it. You cannot escape."

"Sweet mother of pearl!" Varric gasped as the rocks began to crackle with lightning and massive icicles began to fall from the ceiling at unpredictable intervals.

"Watch out for the ice!" she shouted as Carver was nearly impaled the second he stepped foot inside the circle of the tower.

"And the rocks!" he agreed. "Don't get too close!" Anders slipped a lyrium potion into her hand with a wink and grin as she tried to eyeball a path through the now sparking maze after they dispelled the staute in their alcove. With a weary smile, she thanked him, downed it quickly, and they started from the alcove as a group, moving through the rocks quickly to avoid the circling flames, falling ice and sparking rocks.

"If he pulls a dragon out of his ass, I'm leaving," Varric grumbled, as they fell into the alcove, the fire hot on their heels. She reached out and dispelled the statue. "There has got to be a better way to do this!"

She tended to agree. So far they were really not making a dent in his power, but they were all flagging. She glanced at the others, wracking her brain for another plan. Coming up short, she sighed and dipped out of the alcove after the rotation of flames passed by. She skirted to the next statue and as her hand fell on it, Corypheus growled in anger. "No! You are stronger than I thought... but not strong enough." Her heart fluttered in hope. Their efforts were having an effect. She could feel each dispel getting easier and the demons released were getting weaker.

She smirked in victory, a new wave of determination washing over her. She ran from the alcove, Garrett reaching to grab her and missing. She stepped out of the way of a falling stalactite of ice, and ran around a cluster of rock. In her path, two formations of rock were connected by a long current of electricity. She ran toward it, seeing no other way back out unless she backtracked into the flames. She ducked beneath the current, rolling back to her feet and coming out on the other side into another cluster of ice falling toward her. She lifted her hands and the cold struck her barrier, making her fingers go numb. She gritted her teeth against the barrage and then pushed forward. The flames were gaining. She ran for the alcove, her dispel charged. She balked as she passed into the outside and the snow and lightning blazed around her in the previously cloudless sky. "What is going on out there!" she gasped as the others rushed up behind her, having followed the fire that had been licking at her back.

"He's summoned a storm around the entire tower!" Bethany gasped as well.

She pursed her lips. "Get ready." She slammed her palm down and the demons appeared. When the last one fell, she turned to see him disappear, eliminating the fire threat. "Here he comes."

Corypheus appeared in their midst, hovering impossibly above the ground. Philippa began to cast, but before she could finish, he spun in a rapid circle, shards of ice slinging from him in all directions and sending them scattering as he cackled. "Is there a chill in the air?"

"I bloody told you he would cackle," Garrett grunted as one of the shards caught Philippa's leg and drew blood right before another cut across her neck.

"Congratulations, Hawke. You're always right. Can we kill him now?" Varric shouted from behind one of the rock formations. She dipped behind her own rock, trying to make a plan for the event that he did indeed pull a dragon from his ass.

"Run all you like. I can reach you anywhere!" He taunted, proving his point by unleashing some lightning around. A bolt struck uncomfortably close to where she was crouched and it made her angry. She stood boldly from behind the rock. He spotted her instantly as she heard a cry from across the room, distinctly Garrett's voice. His pain made her even angrier. Corypheus summoned some spirit energy and released it toward her in a beam from his palms. She stabbed the butt of her staff into the ground before her and drew the protective circle around herself. When the magic slowed, she lashed out with a fireball wrapped around a stone fist. It collided with his chest and he stumbled back, shouting in surprise. He growled at her, recovering quickly, cupping his hands around more spirit energy before him, she flipped her staff and drew in the power in the air. Throwing her hands out before her, she interrupted his casting with a blast of charged energy that slammed into him and brought him to his knees. He knelt on one knee, clutching his chest and breathing heavily as the room went eerily silent and all of his spells crumbled. He looked up at her in disgust and with the final insult, she drew in everything she had left and slammed the butt of her staff into the ground before her, focusing all of her energy through the humming crystal. Giant spikes of ice jutted up from the ground around him and his entire body went rigid as it turned to ice. For a few moments, she considered shattering the new statue, but then it fell to it's side and shattered on its own, the pieces skittering in all directions.

She leaned against her staff, and the others rejoined her. Anders was limping and his face looked ashen. Garrett had a burn on his forearm that had destroyed his gauntlet. The sweat was pouring off of her and she pushed her hair back from her face as she smiled, slipping her staff into it's harness and touching her palms to both of them, expending just a little bit more mana to heal them. Anders pursed his lips, obviously used to being the only healer. The bloody gash in her neck burned as the sweat found it's way into it. She ignored it. She knew Anders was in no shape to be healing if he hadn't already done so for himself. They had all taken a beating. Him especially. When Garrett knelt to fish through Corypheus' melting remains, he found a strange looking amulet around what used to be Corypheus' neck, he gingerly plucked it from the mess, and she attempted to block out the squishing sounds as the body parts shifted. "That amulet..." Anders gasped when it spun in the air as Garrett stood. Anders moved to Garrett's side and Philippa took a good look at his face. He looked better. The lines that had pinched his eyes and the frown on his forehead had both left him with Corypheus' death. She smiled to herself as he continued. "No one's used that pattern since before the First Blight." He took it in his fingers to study it and Garrett let go of the chain so it dangled in his hands instead. "It was unique to a small sect in Tevinter who worshiped the god Dumat. Corypheus really was an ancient magister..." His eyes widened as he looked up at Garrett. Anders' voice was wispy as he spoke. "I always thought the Black City was just a story..."

Garrett touched his arm and spoke gently. "Even if it's true, it doesn't justify punishing mages over a thousand years later."

"Do you think?" he snarled. Then he sighed. "What else might the Chantry know that we don't? I... I'll need to study this further." he pocketed the amulet and Garrett took his hand. Philippa was ready to be free of the Vinmark Mountains.

Larius reappeared as they headed for the exit to find one of the magical bridges the Warden journals had mentioned. He was walking straighter, his eyes slightly less milky and when he spoke, his voice was steadier. "You did well, Hawkes. More than the Grey Wardens of old were able to accomplish. I will tell the Warden-Commander of your service here."

Anders lifted a single brow and smirked. "You think the Wardens will give you a warm welcome looking like that? I don't think we're supposed to come back from the Calling."

"I must try," Larius lamented, hanging his head. "You've gained an ally today." He looked back at Garrett.

"Why are you talking like that?" Philippa asked worriedly. It was strange to hear him so lucid.

He shrugged. "My head is clear now. Without Corypheus' call, I can think again. I thank you for my freedom," he said with a pleased grin.

She figured his explanation made sense and she shrugged. "And here I thought I just gained a headache."

"I will never forget what you did here. The prison stands no more. My gratitude you have, for my freedom," he repeated and then simply walked off.

"Let's get the bloody hell out of here before Hawke's luck lands us in another epic battle with ancient evil," Varric japed.

"You can't blame my luck _all_ the time," Garrett complained as Philippa reached out with her mana to see if she could feel for a way across to the ledge. She moved toward the edge of the bridge they stood on and a hum of magic drew her a few feet to the left.

Anders chuckled. "It _is_ notoriously bad, love."

"Is that how I got stuck with you lot?" Garrett teased lightly.

Philippa approached the spot and called on her magic, concentrating on the spell that was woven into the stone beneath her. She lifted her arms and poured the magic into the bridge. From beneath in the chasm, several specially carved stones lifted and snapped together with loud bangs, forming a bridge for them to cross all of the way to the ledge. As it continued to form, she stepped up on the first stone and took a tentative step, her arms still upraised and her attention still on completing the bridge. "Stay close behind me. I don't know how long this will last. It's not my spell."

They crossed the narrow bridge as slowly as they dared, Philippa concentrating on her footing as much as the spell. If she looked down, she just might need a clean set of smallclothes. When they reached the other side, she wanted to kiss the solid ground. Instead, she wobbled on her feet as the others stepped from the bridge and then her arms dropped like sacks to her sides and the bridge crumbled. "Whoa, there!" Garrett gasped, catching her as the world spun around her.

Philippa snorted. "We've got to stop meeting like this, brother."

Carver grumbled from nearby. "Tell that to your insistence on overdoing it."

Garrett scooped her up in his arms and chuckled. "Just as bullheaded as the rest of us. The Circle couldn't change that... Let's get a few miles between us and this place and we'll make camp for the night. I'm sure we could all use a good nap."

"A good coma, maybe," Bethany quipped.


	17. Falling Afoul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning to the Circle, Philippa must go back to the daily grind and doing her part to help those in need.

Bethany traveled with them for almost four days before she said her goodbyes and split off to meet up with Nathaniel. It had been really nice to spend time with her in person, and Philippa was already missing her sister by the time they passed through the gates into Kirkwall. The Hightown market greeted them, and as they passed through the fancy shops, the scents of the city swirling around them in the afternoon bustle, Garrett paused before climbing the stairs toward the red light district. "You know, I'm sure Meredith has no idea you're back yet. Would it be too much to ask, Carver, for you to pretend for a few hours that you don't have a duty to return the 'dangerous mage' to the Gallows? I'm sure Orana would love to have someone to cook for besides me and Anders. Come have tea at the estate..."

Carver's scowl wrinkled his brow, but Philippa touched his shoulder, excited at the prospect of a real live home cooked meal. "I think we've earned a treat," she said, hoping she said it convincingly.

Carver's eyes flicked between her and Garrett and them he let out a loud sigh. "Fine, but if we get caught, I'm telling them you convinced me with blood magic," he joked gruffly.

Garrett let out an approving bark of laughter and nudged Varric. "You owe me a sovereign."

Then he turned, threw his arm around Anders and tugged him along behind with a huge grin on his face. Just at the bottom of the Viscount's Way stood the estate entry. Hung on the outside of the alcove that dipped inwards to the door, was a pair of shields adorned with a crest, painted in red. Garrett fished out his key and opened the door, bowing them inside. The entryway was dimly lit, small rugs ringing the center of the room at the feet of several benches that lined the walls. Garrett whistled loudly as he passed through and was answered by barking and then the bounding of feet from deeper in the house. The massive mabari hound that Philippa had seen at Garrett's heel the first time he had come to the Gallows, thumped through the archway that led into the sitting room. Anders gave the slobbering hound a wide berth, an adoring look on his face as he passed further into the house while the hound pounced on Garret and knocked him to the floor, licking his face. Garrett chuckled happily. "Off, Alfie, you mutt. You're full of energy. Has Aveline been neglecting your walks again?"

A woman's voice greeted Anders inside the sitting room "Welcome home, Master Anders." Then a thin, blonde, elven woman wearing a bit too much makeup on her sharp cheekbones and wide eyes scurried into the entryway. Her eyes studied the gathering and she bowed low. "Master Garrett, you've brought guests. I trust your trip went well."

"Swimmingly," Garrett said, pushing the dog off him and standing. "Orana, this is my twin sister, Philippa, and my younger brother, Carver. They're staying for dinner. Do you think you could whip up something?" The mabari shifted it's attention to Carver, wagging it's entire hindquarters in excitement.

"It's a pleasure," the soft spoken woman said with another pair of bows in their direction. "Is there anything else you needed?"

With a shake of Garrett's head, the elven girl bowed out toward the sitting room where Anders had disappeared. Carver knelt and scratched the mabari's shoulders. "It's good to see you, too Ser Alfred. Did you miss me?"

The mabari barked sharply, his tongue falling from his mouth. Garrett took Philippa by the arm and led her through the archway as Varric made himself comfortable and headed toward a staircase downwards. "Bring us a good vintage!" Garrett called after him to which he responded with a wave of his hand over his shoulder. "Welcome to my humble abode, sister."

The sitting room was warm and welcoming, brightly lit by sconces holding up mage crystals. The fireplace burned tall to their right. The mabari, Alfie, followed Carver in and settled himself on the throw rug in front of the fire. Lining the corner on the left were short tables weighed down by what looked to be lab equipment. A young dwarf with blonde curly hair jumped up and down excitedly in front of the nearest table. "Enchantment!" she cried.

A second dwarf, a bit older with brown hair and fine clothing smiled kindly. "Welcome back messere. As usual, your letters are waiting on your desk. And may I ask who this fine young woman is?"

"Bodhan Feddic, this is my twin sister, Phil. Phil, this is Bodhan and his son Sandal," Garrett introduced them briefly. As Anders reappeared at the top of the stairs near the left hand side of the room, his road clothes stripped and swapped with a casual green tunic and brown pants, Garrett hustled her forward. "Let me show you around. Come on Carver... you too."

Garrett led them into a small reading room off the left hand side of the sitting room, another fire burning to their right. Above, up a short set of stairs, was a rather impressive library which her brother had stocked to bursting, likely with Anders' help. Then he led them around to the dining room and the kitchens where the blonde elf was busily preparing a meal for them that already smelled delicious. Philippa was impressed with the icebox that Anders had put in, enchanted to keep things like milk and meat cold, extending the spoil time. He explained that he had one similar in his clinic in Darktown for women that helped out by donating milk for orphaned infants, as well as ice packs that helped reduce swelling from bumps and bruises.

After the tour, they retired to the reading room where Garrett had plenty of chairs for them all to sit and relax while Varric set down a bottle of wine, pouring himself a glass before sitting as well. It was nice to just sit and socialize like a normal human being. Philippa had rarely had the chance to do so, even in Kinloch. There had always been a templar just around the corner, listening in on every word, and there had definitely never been alcohol. Even Carver loosened up, removing his metal plate so he could lounge properly in his chair. The food Orana made was delicious. Roasted chicken topped with a rich polenta and mushrooms prepared in truffle oil, and steamed broccoli on the side. It was much more elegant than anything she had ever tasted, and she savored every bite, complimenting the woman until her cheeks turned red.

As the sun was setting, Carver sighed heavily. "We really should be getting back."

They gathered their things as Garrett hovered, flicking his eyes back and forth between them. Finally, he spoke up as he handed Philippa her staff that she had leaned behind her chair. "You don't think that Carver might accidentally 'lose' your phylactery?"

Before Carver could even defend his own morals, Philippa shook her head wildly. "No, Garrett. Carver is happy in the Gallows, and I may not be happy, but I'm where I should be. I can use what little influence I have to help. If I were to escape, Carver would bear the punishment for allowing it to happen."

Garrett sighed. "You just look so happy. Even when we were being attacked by an ancient evil magister, you were so... in your element."

Philippa reached up, settling her palm on her brother's cheek, her fingers slipping between the soft hairs of his beard, and smiled. "There is more going on in the Gallows that needs my attention. I appreciate your concern, Garrett, but I know what's best."

Garrett pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head and addressed Carver. "You two look after each other."

"Of course we will," Philippa agreed, hugging him in return. "And thank you for helping to get me permission to go on my first adventure. I had fun."

Garrett released her with a final ruffle to her hair and then as he stepped away to say a few words to Carver, Anders stepped up in front of her. "The Circle did one thing right in raising you, Phil. You're handy to have around in a fight."

"Oh," she said with a sarcastic grin. "The ultimate praise. I should mark my calendar."

Anders scoffed. "Shut up and take the compliment, you ass," he said before pulling her into a hug like Garrett had. "It was really good seeing you."

Philippa and Carver left Garrett's estate and made their way back through Hightown and into Lowtown before heading for the docks and the ferry to the Gallows. "Thank you, sister, for standing up for me," Carver said sheepishly as they settled onto the ferry and began to float quietly toward the Gallows.

She shrugged. "It's like I said. I care about you and your career, and there are other things in the Gallows that need my attention."

While they had been away, there had apparently been a hubbub inside the Gallows. Philippa found out from Grace that several of the templars that were in league with Thrask and his merry band had gotten into the Phylactery chamber and several of the blood vials had been destroyed. A little more than a handful of mages had taken the opportunity to flee the Circle. Meredith and the rest of the templars had been relentlessly tracking down those missing. All but three had been found and already punished severely. When Meredith had found out that Philippa and her siblings had returned to the city, she immediately had a note sent to Garrett in hopes of enlisting his help to find the others. She assumed that the families of the missing mages might talk more easily to the Champion than the templars.

While Meredith was scrambling to recover the mages, Philippa was seeking out Thrask. While outside the Circle and free, she had realized that, her alone, appealing to Cullen for support was going to likely lead nowhere. Things were best accomplished with a team working together. What better team than the collection of mages and templars already set on a common goal?

After Thrask had accepted her into the fold, the girl that had come to her in the infirmary, Terri, returned almost a week after she had attended her first secret meeting. Again, Terri had been beaten and violated, but would still not give the name of her abuser. When Philippa examined her this time, she found a disturbing truth. Terri's abuser had left her with a little surprise. Philippa knew what it was like to be the subject of an illegitimate pregnancy within the Circle, having watched one of her best friends go through it back in Ferelden. When she grudgingly offered the news to Terri, the girl shut down almost completely, her face going ashen. "I don't want this. I never wanted this," she squeaked, glancing up at Philippa with sodden eyes.

Philippa bit her lip. She had never condoned Anders and his many escape attempts, but sometimes there were no other options. "Terri, there is nothing I can do here to help, but I know some people that might be able to get you out of the Circle. I know it's not ideal, but there is a clinic in Darktown. The mage who runs it is an old friend. He can get you the help you need and to get you away from the Circle and whoever keeps forcing himself on you." She tucked the girl's hair behind her ear gently, looking for an answer.

After a few moments, Terri nodded slowly. "I can't stay here anymore."

Philippa took her hands in hers. "Give me a few days and I will talk to the right people. I promise, we'll get you out."

Philippa attended bi-weekly meetings late at night, sometimes outside the Circle itself. Thrask and his little group had found several inventive ways to leave the Gallows without being noticed. It was in one of those manners that they snuck Terri out under cover of darkness. As the months droned on and the meetings continued, Philippa began making friends with some of the templars and mages that shared the desire to simply be out from under Meredith's heel. They wanted the Circle to continue, but for it to do so without the harshness of the Knight-Commander's tyranny.

Months after Terri's disappearance, Cullen spearheaded an investigation into the abuses of the templars against their charges, apparently on the word of a trusted outsider who had angrily informed him of the pregnant apprentice that had shown up in Anders' clinic. Predictably, the templars who might know anything about the situation closed ranks, and the ones that had no clue were of little help. Cullen's investigation got him nowhere.

Near the end of his investigation, Philippa was cleaning up after her shift in the infirmary when a knock sounded on the door. She called out an invitation, unable to answer the knock with the armful of pillows she was carrying. A soft chuckle sounded after the gentle rattling of plate that indicated her visitor was a templar. "I didn't realize I would be speaking to your softer side this evening, Enchanter Hawke."

His familiar voice and the teasing lilt brought a mild flutter to her chest that she ignored. Peering around the pillows, she smirked to match his lopsided grin. "Why, Knight-Captain, I believe that was an attempt at levity. It's good you came to the infirmary. You're definitely ill... or possessed." She frowned thoughtfully as she teased. "Or both. Either way, you could take a few of these off my hands like a gentleman."

"O-of course," he stuttered, jerking toward her and lifting the top four pillows from her arms so she could see over the remaining three. He stood awkwardly, holding the pillows and glancing around. "Uh, where..."

"Oh," she interrupted, rolling her eyes at her own thoughtlessness. "The cabinet on your left... bottom shelf." Cullen nodded and walked the pillows to the cabinet and placed them where she had indicated. She followed, setting down her own pile. "Now that I can see you properly, is there a reason you came to see me?" she asked with a grin, crossing her arms.

"Oh, right, yes," he said, standing a bit straighter. "A while back, you came to me about a young woman you had treated that had been sexually abused. While I tried to follow up on the information, with so little insight, the investigation went nowhere. It has recently come to my attention that a young woman that hailed from the Circle, went missing not long ago." His next sentence was punctuated with a sigh and roll of his eyes. "While I'm certain you had nothing at all to do with her escape from the Gallows, I would like to ask if you knew anything about her."

"If you're asking whether I knew she had fallen pregnant, yes I did. I was the one who initially diagnosed her condition after she came back to the infirmary black and blue and freshly violated," Philippa said boldly, unconcerned whether Cullen might see her hiding the fact as a punishable offense.

As he usually did when conflicted, he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. Instead of prodding at her knowledge of her escape, he gritted his teeth and sighed again. "Were you at least able to find out the name of her rapist, this time?"

Philippa backed down from her challenging stance and lowered her eyes to shake her head solemnly. "I wish I had. I'm sorry."

"So am I," he agreed softly.

After that conversation, Cullen was forced to drop the investigation because he didn't have enough information to discover which of the templars had attacked Terri. Thrask and the others were working on something big that Thrask informed her would be the turning point in their fight to bring down Meredith.

She was brought into the plan without prior knowledge. She and the templar Kerran that Garrett had saved from possession years back, were both sent to the meeting point for that evening with the first wave of escapees. She and the templar had become fast friends in spite of his previous negative encounters with mages. They were in a warehouse on the docks, a short walk from the ferry landing. One ferryman in particular was in on the secrets of the group, shuffling them from one side of the water to the other for a small fee paid by Thrask. They were waiting casually for the others to arrive when a familiar enchanter rushed in and started shouting that they had been betrayed. That was when she found out that she and Carver were meant to be bait. A few templars that followed the panicking mage bore down on her. Reacting on instinct, she grabbed Kerran's wrist to protect him and unleashed a mind blast to free herself. She abandoned the warehouse while the others were stunned, quickly getting Kerran to play along and pretend he was still on their side so he could warn Garrett. She and Carver were to be a lure for Garrett. She needed to get back to the Gallows and warn Carver before they attacked him, if it wasn't already too late.

She slipped quickly along the docks to the ferry and had the man transport her back to the Gallows. She was rushing, hoping to reach Carver in time, but instead of Carver, she ran into another templar. She had seen him around the Circle before, but never paid him much heed. He had dark hair and a ruddy complexion that was riddled with pockmarks. When he grabbed her tightly by her upper arms, she attempted to tug free and scowled at him. "Is there a reason you're out of bed, mage?" he growled in an overly gruff voice that sent shivers down her spine as his hands tightened the more she struggled. Before she could retort with a smart remark, he leaned in closer to her ear and lowered his voice. "You know I heard you were the one responsible for costing me my favorite toy. That means, you're going to replace her."

Philippa's stomach sank and she opened her mouth to shout, but she felt the voice drawn from her throat in an effective silence, the likes of which she had not experienced since she had been transported to Kinloch Hold as a child. She tried to struggle free of his grasp again, her heart racing in panic, but received a backhand to her right cheek in payment. His gauntleted knuckles connected so sharply with her cheek that her vision blackened briefly and when it returned, it was accompanied by flashing stars before her. Her head slumped before she whipped it back up, shaking off the shock of the blow to the face. She was being dragged out of the exposed hallway. With the realization, she attempted to dig in her heels and make it that much harder for him to subdue her. She was not going to go down without a fight. She managed to twist one of her arms free, but the hand he had been holding her with swiftly found her hair and dug in deep, yanking at her head and forcing her to follow or be ripped bald.

He didn't lead her far, straight to one of the classrooms, abandoned at this time of night. He shoved her inside and closed the door behind him. He leaned her backwards over one of the large tables and released his hold of her arm, holding her down by her hair alone. His now free hand moved to caress her cheek, making her cringe away in disgust. Her reaction simply made him angry. He pulled the caressing hand back and then used it to slap her again. It was with his open palm this time, saving her from the plates on his gauntlets. After the slap, he began to caress her face again. She closed her eyes and tried to look away, breathing rapidly. "Terri was such a young and pretty thing, but you..." he hummed in appreciation. "Those mesmerizing eyes beneath your dark hair and nearly unblemished skin... I could watch you choke on my dick all night."

Philippa tried to whimper, but the silence had stolen her voice. All that came out was a harsh snort as she tried to twist her hair free of his grip. When he leaned in, his breath hot on her cheek, she pressed her lips tight together to avoid his tongue. Nausea and disgust swirled in her gut, anger soon following. She thrashed with her arms, grabbing hold of anything within reach and throwing them as far as she could to make loud clattering noises, praying that someone would hear. Ser Doyle, she recalled that as his name, realized what she was doing and briefly released her hair to pin her arms again. It put her at an angle where she could just barely fight back. She lifted her knee and jammed it into his crotch, making him cry out and release her wrists for just long enough that she could get her arms between them and shove him away.

Recovering swiftly, he grabbed her, spun her around and the hand that hit her this time was a closed fist. The blindness returned and the world spun. When she returned to her senses, her chest was pressed to the table and he had lifted her robes up above her knees. In his distraction, she realized, he had neglected the silence. She opened her mouth and shouted as loudly as she could, making him drop her clothing that was balled in his fist and press the hand over her mouth instead. With a grunt he said, "Terri was never this feisty. It only took a few slaps to put her in check..."

Philippa opened her mouth and angrily took the meat of his hand between her teeth, biting through the leather of his glove. He pulled it free and the fist collided with her temple again. She lost a few more moments, but she refused to allow the Fade to take her. She would fight until she couldn't anymore. Even without her magic, she had been taught how to defend herself.

She could feel his growing member pressed up against her rear as he reached to hold both her wrists together above her head. She cringed, still wriggling against his grip. Suddenly, a loud clatter sounded behind her and within seconds, a meaty thunk joined the cacophony. His grip slackened and with the lapse, she yanked her arms back, drawing them beneath her to push him off her back. She didn't care who had come to her rescue, but she owed them more than she could ever express. Even her time with Alrik had not frightened her as much as being pinned to that table. Her hands were still shaking as she heard Doyle hit the floor behind her, her heart racing and her stomach flipping in terror.

Hands landed lightly on her shoulders, and she flinched, spinning with her hands balled into fists. "Easy," his familiar and somehow soothing voice said gently.

She couldn't help herself. Silently sobbing, Philippa threw herself at Cullen, landing in his arms, her own limbs folded between them and her face instinctively hovering near his neck. As the templar skill faded, Philippa silently prayed that he would set aside his shield for a split second and comfort her properly like Garrett was so very good at. After a moment, her prayers were answered. Without further hesitation, Cullen's arms lifted and he wrapped them tightly around her, protectively guarding her as she allowed her tears to slip free of their cage and stream down her cheeks. Soon with the silence gone, noisy sobs joined the tears, hiccoughing from her throat. He allowed her to cry, one eye on Doyle and the other on the door. When her wits returned, her face and head catching up with the multiple blows she had endured, the throbbing and stinging nearly became indistinguishable from each other. She could hardly see through her left eye and she was certain blood was trickling down her cheek. Drawing in a ragged breath, still huddled against Cullen's chest, she said softly. "I think I found your rapist."

They had known each other for so long that she could tell that his next words were directly catered to the mocking tone in which she had made that announcement. "That's not exactly the investigative method I would have used, Hawke."

Inwardly thanking the Maker that he was helping her bring light to the terrible situation, she retorted. "And that's precisely why you didn't find him. Aren't you glad I think outside the box?"

Sighing softly, he drew her away from his chest, his hands on her shoulders. "Maker's breath, look at you. Are you all right?" In an oddly intimate gesture, he lifted her hair from her face to study the growing bruises.

She nodded lightly, her hair falling from his fingertips. "I will be... may I?"

He withdrew his hands and nodded curtly. She reached into her core and called on a nearby spirit to assist her in mending the damage to her face and arms. As the gentle healing magic washed over her, Cullen watched somberly. Once she was finished, the spirit departed and she blinked a few times, before glancing up at him. With a sigh, he finally cringed and said, "Hawke, I need to ask... It's after midnight. Why aren't you in bed?"

They were too far from her room for her to lie, but then before she could think up an excuse, her eyes widened. "Shit! Carver!" She started to panic anew. "Cullen, I don't have time to explain, but somewhere along the coast, there is a group of mages and templars gathered together. They must have Carver by now. They meant to take me, too, but I managed to escape. They're trying to lure Garrett into joining them to overthrow Meredith."

Cullen was silent for so long that she thought she might have broken him. His face was slowly reddening and his hands slowly balling into fists. When he finally spoke, his amber eyes flicked dangerously to hers and he growled. "Go back to your room."

Those five words were all she needed to understand that he was thoroughly pissed at her. He likely knew she had been a part of the conspiracy. At that particular moment, she was getting a reprieve because he had one templar lying unconscious at their feet, a criminal, and another of his templars abducted to the wounded coast. His plate was full. She took a step back from him, her expression apologetic before she skirted Doyle's prone figure and Cullen's seething person.

She rushed back to her room, knowing that Cullen was capable of handling things. She had screwed up enough. No need to make it worse. Thrask's group had been secretive, even within their own, never knowing who they could really trust. When Philippa arrived back at her room, she was both surprised and not surprised to see that Grace was not in her bed. She had seen her roommate making nice with some of the others that she knew were involved with the group. She briefly wondered if Grace had been a party to the conspiracy that had planned to use her and Carver as bait. Her hands still shaky after the incident in the classroom, she shuffled to her desk, sitting in the chair, her staff abandoned near the door. The mirror looking back at her showed the drying blood that had dripped down her cheeks from the cuts she had healed. Dark circles ringed the underneath of her eyes and her eyes themselves were bloodshot from the tears she had shed. She brushed aside the bangs that hung in her face, making certain she had handled all of the bruising and then took up a scrap of cloth to scrub away the remaining crusted on blood. She didn't want a single reminder of what had just happened.

After she had cleaned herself up, she stripped to her small clothes and got into her bed, huddling beneath her blanket. The Fade was calling and for some strange reason, she needed to speak to the one person she hadn't seen in years. She closed her eyes and reached out, not knowing if she would even be able to find him wherever he was. She was relying on the memories of all the times she had been inside his mind before. She drew herself across the miles, following the formerly familiar taste of Finn's magic. She was proud when she actually found him. In his dream, he was holding up a torch, wearing finely made trousers coupled with a rugged vest and tunic combination. His hair had grown slightly and was no longer quite so carefully styled as it had been before. The woman beside him was dressed in light leathers, dyed a leaf green that blended nicely with her sun-kissed skin, her entire midriff exposed from the bottom of her breasts to her belly button. Her dark red hair was worn simply, dangling to just below her shoulders. She had a pair of daggers in her hands and they were looking prepared for a fight. Philippa waited for a moment to see if the fight would come, but after a few moments of them exchanging familiar small-talk, she sighed and wondered if she should even disturb him. She had left him behind and he had made his own way, but she still missed him from time to time. After a brief debate with herself, she finally bit her lip and selfishly wiped away the dream.

The elven woman disappeared and Finn dropped his torch, cursing as he looked around. She could see in his shoulders, the moment he realized what was going on. He spun, a wide grin on his face as his eyes hunted for her. "Maker's breath, Phil!"

She breathed a sigh of relief at his excited greeting as he rushed to her and gripped her up in a tight hug, lifting her momentarily off the ground. She clung to him when he set her down, burying her face in his scentless chest. "I'm sorry. I just needed to see you."

"Don't be sorry! It's been ages since I've seen you!" He held her at arms length, still smiling. "You look..." his expression shifted as he took in her own somber gaze. "Terrible... Has something happened?"

She hugged herself, jostling his hands from her arms. "This place... the Gallows..." she sighed heavily, blinking back more tears. "I tried Finn. I was the good little mage, doing everything that Meredith dictated. My cooperation even eventually earned me the job as head healer in the infirmary." A raspy chuckle escaped her. "Probably the worst idea to let me see the aftermath of all the abuses that happen here almost everyday. I should have known my mouth would get me in trouble someday."

Finn reached out and took her shoulders again. "Phil, tell me what happened," he urged gently.

She sighed heavily. "Nearly a year ago, after I returned from the Vinmark Mountains, I joined a group here in the Gallows. A cooperation of mages and templars, working together to make our lives better. There was a young apprentice, barely fifteen, who was raped and beaten by a templar. She never told me his name. After she fell pregnant, my group managed to help her escape the Gallows. That was months ago. Tonight I was out at one of our meetings and found out that someone inside the group had thought it a good idea to use me and Carver as bait to draw Garrett into helping them to overthrow Meredith. I managed to get away, and I rushed back to the Gallows to see if I could get to Carver before they did. I was waylaid by another templar. He..." she paused, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. "Ser Doyle. He confessed to being the one that had abused Terri. He said I was responsible for taking away his plaything, so I was going to replace her..."

Finn's eyes widened and then an expression she had never seen on his face passed over his eyes. He was angry. Genuinely enraged. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing I couldn't heal, thank the Maker. I thrashed around so much that I was able to land a good knee to his groin that made his silence falter long enough for me to shout. By some miracle, Cullen heard me," she explained, her hands shaking again. "Of course, now he knows I was out of bed after hours."

Finn sighed and pulled her into a hug, "Are you going to be all right?" he asked her gently as she huddled against him again.

"Honestly?" she asked, lifting her chin to look up at him. "I have absolutely no idea how to judge Cullen's actions anymore. He's not been the same since we left Kinloch." She cleared her throat and pulled away from his hug. "Maker, it's really good to see you. Is this how you dress now?" she teased, plucking at his vest and trying to staunch her feelings.

He grinned deviously, "It is. I returned my old robes to the Circle. They can keep them."

She chuckled. "I think they make you look dashing. Ariane must not be able to keep her hands off you."

Instead of the expected flush of his cheeks and avid denial she had expected, Finn threw his head back and laughed. "Ariane is certainly a passionate creature, though it took her a _very_ long time to stop scowling at me when she first adopted me."

Philippa snorted. "You make it sound like you're her pet."

"At first, I must have seemed like a puppy. I was so far out of my element... as you well know. She kept food in my belly and clothes on my back. The years have made me a much better traveling companion, I think," he mused.

"Little Flora, all grown up," Philippa teased.

He cringed and laughed again. "Maker no one's called me that in years."

Philippa allowed herself a few more minutes to enjoy talking with Finn and avoiding the real world. Her friend had certainly grown into his own while she stagnated in the Gallows. Finally, she sighed. "I probably should be going."

Finn's shoulders slumped slightly and his eyes flicked up and down her person one last time. "Listen, I know we have different lives now, but please, Phil, don't ever think you're not welcome to pop in to my dreams. I still care what happens to you."

She reached out and hugged him tightly. "It was so good to see you, Natty."

He chuckled. "I'm not sure you can call me that anymore, but you will always be my Weaver. Keep me posted."

"I will," she promised with a genuine smile.


	18. Pop goes the Chantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension in the Gallows comes to a head and Kirkwall melts down.

Philippa waited. When Cullen had returned from the Wounded Coast with a slightly battered Carver and a significantly thin herd of other mages and templars, which included the previously excommunicated Samson, she had expected him to draw her into the investigation. Days passed, and as each of her 'cohorts' were separated and interrogated, she waited. Grace never returned, and Philippa was not certain of her fate. She didn't dare ask, for fear of drawing attention to herself. After a week with barely a glance in her direction from anyone, Philippa started to feel a pit growing in her stomach. Instead of relieved that she had not been summoned, she felt nervous, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. Near lunchtime two weeks after Doyle had pinned her to the table, Philippa left the infirmary and made her way warily to Cullen's office. His door was closed, and she was hesitant to disturb him in spite of her usual tendency to barge in uninvited. She lifted her hand to the door to knock, hovered briefly, bit her lip and pulled her hand away again, hugging it to her chest. She glanced up and down the hall, seeing Meredith's door open, and Orsino's closed. At the end of the hall that led to the templar barracks, the door into the gardens was open as well. She debated wandering into the gardens for a moment to collect her thoughts, but the thought of being caught outside of her schedule again without reason flipped her stomach. She swiftly spun back around and knocked four times on Cullen's door, then froze, her chest tightening as she realized what she had done. She considered running, but his voice called through the wooden door and it was inviting.

Inhaling a deep breath and steeling herself, she reached for the handle and let herself into Cullen's office. He looked up from his papers and she stepped in, hovering in the doorway and leaving the door open for an easy escape. Cullen looked briefly shocked, and she drew her hands together, wringing her fingers nervously as she watched him accept that it was her that had just entered. His eyes studied her swiftly, and she saw him note that she had come without her staff. "Can I help you with something, Hawke?" he asked curtly.

She cleared her throat softly and dragged her fingers apart, only to have them reach around to hug her own gut. "I was... It's been some time since... Since the coast, and I was only wondering..." she paused and did her own brief study of his noticeably still posture, as if he were holding himself rigid for fear of any sudden movement chasing her off. "Everyone else involved has been questioned..."

"And you were wondering why I haven't mentioned you were involved?" he asked, his tone softer than she expected and his eyes shifting away from her.

She nodded briefly. "If it's not too much trouble," she said, with a ragged chuckle.

"As if you've ever caused me anything but..." he retorted. Then he sighed and set his quill down to rub both hands over his face. "No one else knows what really happened with Doyle that night. I've painted him as one of the conspirators. I told Meredith I caught him trying to abduct you as they did your brother. She wanted you questioned, but I told her you remembered nothing. You may have been involved, but I... I believe you've been through quite enough to justify letting your role slip beyond notice."

Philippa stared at him, feeling her mouth falling slightly open. When her senses returned, she closed her mouth and managed to find her voice. "Th-thank you."

His expression shifted back to the familiar scowl that he had adopted since Kinloch and he pointed a finger at her sternly. "Don't think this means I won't be keeping an extra close watch on your movements. You were a victim because you broke the rules, Hawke. If you and your merry band hadn't helped that apprentice escape, Doyle may not have come after _you._ "

Philippa balked briefly as she felt her anger swirl to the surface. "Better me than an innocent teenager," she barked, crossing her arms in place of the nervous self embrace they had been wrapped in.

"If she had reported the crime and given a name, it may never have gotten that far," Cullen snapped back.

"She was terrified!" Philippa growled, her voice breaking as her own memories of being pinned down beneath the templar surfaced. "How would you feel if someone took away your voice so you couldn't even cry out for help? How would you feel knowing that they were there, living under the same roof as you, free as they pleased to abuse their power... lurking." She felt a tear drip down her cheek. She was crying. When had that happened?

Cullen stood and reached out a hand. "Hawke, I'm sorry. I wasn't blaming you for what he did. Even though it probably sounded that way. Andraste preserve me, I didn't mean..."

She angrily brushed away the tears. "Are we done?"

Cullen's reaching hand lifted awkwardly to rub over the back of his neck. "O-Of course."

As Philippa turned to leave, a great rumbling shook the entire Gallows, making her reach out to steady her footing beneath the arch of the doorway. "What the bloody Void was that?" she gasped. Cullen spun and looked out the window behind his desk as the floor rumbled again, a booming sound joining the shuddering earth. A red glow permeated the sky and she found herself rushing to Cullen's side to see as well. Spearing upwards from the direction of Hightown, the beam of red light reached for the heavens, spreading outwards as the rumbling came to a head with a trembling explosion. Pieces of stone and mortar burst from the light to swirl in a maelstrom around the center and then lifted upwards, another explosion, midair, throwing the debris outwards over the city.

"Maker's breath," Cullen gasped, staring at the destruction as bits of the stone made it all of the way to the Gallows, falling like meteors outside the building.

"Was that the Keep?" she asked in a whisper, her heart racing as quickly as her mind was with questions.

"No," Cullen said and pointed. "You can still see the top of the Keep poking over the rest of the city. I think that was the Chantry."

"That explosion was magical," she pointed out. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Shit," Cullen cursed, moving to grab his sword and shield. "Meredith and Orsino were heading to the Chantry when I saw them last. Fighting as usual..."

"You can't think Orsino had anything to do with this?" Philippa said, scurrying from his office on his heels. "I don't even know what kind of magic that was... and I've had a _lot_ of time to read."

"I don't know what to think, yet," he growled as they headed for the main hall where both templars and mages were out of their classrooms and dorms, chattering and speculating among themselves. "One thing I _do_ know, is that for once, _you_ had nothing to do with it. Collect your staff and meet me in the courtyard. Perhaps someone will have news of the Knight-Commander or the First Enchanter."

Philippa didn't argue. She left Cullen and ran for her room to arm herself. After the staff, she ran to the infirmary and grabbed some supplies in case she was needed in the city to help the injured. There were bound to be both casualties and collateral damage from an explosion that large. With a satchel over her shoulder, she left to find Cullen in the courtyard.

When she finally got outside, there was already fighting happening between the mages and templars. She stared in shock as a drove of templars cut down a handful of mages, and the friends of the mages retaliated. She tried to find Cullen, seeking out his blonde hair in the throng of people, but there was simply too much going on for her to differentiate one templar from the rest. She drew her staff, raising a barrier to protect herself, and slipped into the fray, trying her best to cast spells that would incapacitate the attacking templars, allowing the mages to fall back. She didn't find Cullen, but finally, she ran into Orsino. He seemed unhurt, acting a little more savagely than she was to free his people. He was flinging fire and death from the end of his staff. She approached him, calling out his name. "Orsino!"

"Phil!" he called back when he located her in the crowd.

"What is going on here?" she asked, stepping out of the way as a templar swung a sword down at her, nearly missing cleaving her head in two. She twirled her staff, using the head to whack the back of his head when he stumbled with the over swing. He fell to the ground, unconscious, and she stepped over him, making her way to the First Enchanter.

"A friend of your brother's blew up the Chantry. He was a mage, and naturally, Meredith has painted all mages guilty. She has invoked the Right of Annulment on the Circle," Orsino explained.

"Anders?" she asked with a gasp, temporarily dumbfounded. Orsino pushed her behind him and cast some more spells at the approaching templars.

"I thought you knew him. I could never prove your involvement with the Underground, but I suspected," Orsino grunted. "Anders was always very tight lipped about those he worked with."

"Why would he do this?" Philippa wondered, breaking out of her stupor to help Orsino, refusing to use deadly force like he was. She simply used her physical magic, pushing back the approaching templars before they could spit them on the tips of their swords. It wasn't their faults. They were following Meredith's orders. They didn't deserve to die any more than the innocent mages they were attempting to slaughter.

"To remove the chance for compromise," Orsino quoted, drawing in his mana and releasing it in a burst of spirit energy that passed through a glyph he had drawn in the air, seeking out multiple targets and slamming into them to knock them down. After nearly a half an hour of fighting, multiple casualties on both sides, Orsino had backed up onto the stairs, trying to get the remaining mages inside. He called out, drawing her attention from the spell she had prepared. "Champion! You've survived, thank the Maker! We must..." His words were cut off as a great rattling sounded near the entrance to the courtyard from the docks. Garrett stopped as the crowds parted and Orsino slowly moved down the stairs toward him, Meredith approaching from the docks. Philippa followed Orsino and Garrett stepped aside, putting himself between Meredith and Orsino as they met each other with angry scowls.

"And here you are..." Meredith growled. Garrett's tattooed elven friend, Fenris stood at her back, drenched in blood. Garrett averted his gaze from the elf as Philippa watched him balk at the hurt glance her brother had thrown him. Then she noticed that Bethany was standing with Garrett, decked out in her Warden armor. How had she gotten to Kirkwall so quickly?

"Let us speak Meredith!" Orsino begged. "Before this battle destroys the city you claim to protect." From the chaos in the Gallows and the amount of blood that seemed to coat Garrett and his companions, it seemed like it was a little late.

"I will entertain a surrender. Nothing more," Meredith said curtly. "Speak if you have something to say."

Philippa glanced between the two of them, both looking like they were out for blood. She supposed it made sense. This had been coming for almost eight years. "Revoke the Rite of Annulment, Meredith, before this goes too far." Orsino was practically pleading. It felt like he knew that no matter how powerful his mages were, and regardless of who was on his side, they were not going to win this war. "Imprison us if you must. Search the tower. I will even help you. But do not kill us all for an act we did not commit." She noted his glance at Anders who was still standing at Garrett's back, looking subdued, but he quickly looked away.

Meredith was beyond pleading. "The Grand Cleric is dead, killed by a mage. The people will demand retribution, and I will give it to them." Orsino turned away, shaking his head in sorrow. "Your offer is commendable, Orsino, but it comes too late."

Garrett sighed as if he had expected nothing more. "I was kind of hoping for a happy ending," he grumbled.

"I doubt we'll be seeing that," Orsino sighed as well.

Fenris spoke up, drawing Garrett's gaze again. "You realize this is a cause you cannot hope to win."

Her brother pressed his lips together and crossed his arms. "I suppose dying with you at my side is too much to ask?"

Fenris balked and looked away, his mouth opening and closing in indecision. Then he looked up and his eyes narrowed. "I..." He looked to Meredith. "I have changed my mind, human. I will stand with my friend."

Meredith grunted as Fenris moved to stand with Garrett. "As you wish. I did not ask for your assistance."

Philippa noticed Carver behind Meredith as he spoke up, scowling at Garrett. "And what about me? Are you really going to fight your own brother?"

"I could ask you the same question, Carver," Garret said, his eyes picking her out of the crowd. He tipped his head toward her and Carver followed his gaze.

Carver also blanched, looking from Meredith to Philippa and them back to Garrett. "This isn't what I want. I..."

"Ser Carver," Meredith interrupted, drawing Carver's back straighter as he automatically stood at attention. "I suggest you remember our purpose."

"I..." Carver set an apologetic look on Philippa before his shoulders slumped. "Yes, Knight-Commander."

Philippa had no chance to be shocked as her brother turned on her in favor of Meredith as the Knight-Commander spoke. "I suppose I should have expected no less from you, Champion. So be it. You will share the Circle's fate."

Philippa then noticed Cullen standing sheepishly behind Meredith and trying in vein to hide his tall form from her accusing gaze as he noticed her setting it on him. "So what is it to be, Meredith?" Orsino asked, drawing Philippa's gaze from Cullen. She supposed she wasn't surprised. Cullen had told her time and again he still supported Meredith in spite of her insanity. What would make him change his mind now. "Do we fight here?"

Meredith shook her head and her voice softened. "Go, prepare your people. The rest of the Order is already crossing the Harbor."

"This isn't over," Orsino growled, turning from Meredith and heading into the Gallows. Garrett followed, not bothering to look back, and Philippa fell in beside him. There was no changing Meredith's mind.

Once they were inside, Orsino gathered those remaining in the Harrowing Chamber. Most of the mages were either terrified or injured. Philippa was glad that she had brought her supplies. Without bothering to await orders, she hustled to the edges of the room to begin assisting the more badly injured of her peers. Orsino stood stoically in the middle of the room, glancing around at his people and sighing sadly. Finally, he squared his shoulders and lifted his head, clapping his hands together sharply to draw attention to him.

"My fellow mages, heed me!" Once he had everyone's eyes on him, he said, "The templars will come. For all our power, we cannot defeat such an army. There is only one option for us all... survive. Do not submit! Do not fall on your knees before them! Get out of Kirkwall! Spread word to the other Circles! They will not get away with this." The mood in the room shifted. Philippa felt the determination swell from the other mages at Orsino's words. He certainly knew how to give a pep talk. "Prepare your people, Champion," he said, turning to Garrett. "and then speak with me. If we have any chance of surviving, it will be with your help."

Her brother nodded slightly and looked around at those who followed him. Their mood seemed similar to the mages. They were disheartened and concerned. With a heavy sigh that he quickly covered up with a plastered on smile that she recognized all too well, Garrett began to move among his friends, saying a few words to each of them. Philippa continued to help those who were hurt, and she could feel Anders doing the same. After doing all she could, she got up from her crouch, lifted her satchel from her shoulder and dropped it in a corner. Without prompting, Anders approached her. "Are you all right, Phil?"

She turned to him, noting his pinched brow and the way he kept glancing at Garrett. "No worse for the wear," she said with her own deep sigh. "Was this really you?"

He flinched at her accusing tone. "Maybe someday, if we survive this and we have the time, I will explain..."

"I don't want your explanation," she said sharply. "Look around you, Anders. These people... these mages... they are suffering for what _you_ did. If I've learned anything from this madness, it's which twin has the bigger heart. Lover or no, I don't think I could have forgiven your actions if I were in Garrett's shoes."

She turned away from him, leaving his expression fractured, and headed toward Bethany who was huddled in a corner, hugging herself. "Phil! Maker's breath, I'm so glad to see you alive."

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, Beth, but your timing is impeccable," Philippa pointed out as she hugged her sister.

Bethany chuckled softly. "I happened to be in the area on Warden business. We saw the Chantry explosion from Sundermount. Nathaniel tried to stop me from coming, but I had to make sure you were all safe."

Philippa bit her lip. "What are we supposed to do when Meredith sends Carver through that door?"

Bethany flinched. "I really don't want to think about it."

Philippa settled her hand on Bethany's shoulder and squeezed it lightly as Garrett approached them both. "Ah, my two favorite siblings," he said with a forced grin before hugging them both at once.

Bethany clung to him tightly. "With Mother... I never got the chance to say goodbye. I don't want that to happen this time. Brother, if we... if we don't make it, never doubt that I love you. I wouldn't have chosen this life, but the Maker gave it to me for a reason."

Garrett blanched, holding her at arms length. "Does that mean you've forgiven me?"

Bethany sighed. "I used to imagine what would have happened if I'd stayed with Mother instead of going on that damned expedition. But the Wardens serve a purpose, a noble one. I can't regret helping them."

"Of all we did, if you could change one thing, what would it be?" Garrett asked with a smile.

"I would have stayed behind and convinced Carver not to join the templars. He is always such a show-off. Everything else... the Maker is wiser than we can be in a lifetime." She shrugged lightly. "Who am I to question His plan?"

Garrett sighed. "He picked one damned roundabout way to show that."

Bethany snorted softly. "You never change, do you? Maybe the Maker knew we needed that much time to understand." She reached over and took Philippa's hand in hers. "Thank you for supporting our people. It means a lot that you, at least, haven't turned against us."

Garrett chuckled. "What sort of older brother would I be if I turned on my sisters." He looked at Philippa, his expression serious. "I promised you that I would always be there to protect you, and I've been doing a terrible job of it. It's time I made up for that."

Philippa fell into her twin's arms, hugging him tightly. "Just promise me one thing. When this is all over, you be careful with Anders..."

Garrett physically cringed in her arms before backing away. "I... I really don't know what to do with him at this point. I spared his life and let him come with us, but..." he sighed heavily. "I need to finish this battle first."

Philippa nodded and Garrett pulled her and Bethany to his side again to kiss them both on the head before moving to the other side of the room where he finally approached Anders. Their conversation was muted, but Anders seemed to be smiling at whatever Garrett told him. She could not see her brother's expression from her angle, but she suspected it was the same plastered on smirk he had been sporting since Carver took Meredith's side. Finally, he left Anders with a light and tentative kiss and then approached Orsino. "Champion, are you ready?" he asked. When Garrett nodded he gave a small, worried smile. Then you'll need to give orders to your people while I do the same for mine."

He left Orsino to it and moved to a small section of the room that was not so crowded and beckoned his people closer. They gathered around him, Philippa finding herself falling in around him as well, and he cleared his throat. "We've all fought together before and templars are not a new enemy. Those of you without magic, pick a mage partner and keep the templars off them while they cast. It's the best way to get everyone through this in one piece." Once everyone had their orders, Garrett moved his eyes from one of them to the next, taking in their concern. "So, this is it. Some of you are worried. Maybe I am too, but I'm not staying long enough to find out. What I know is that I don't like being cornered, and I can fight harder scared than they can angry." Then he smirked. "We're getting out, and I'm buying when we do!"

There was a loud thump outside the door and Orsino jogged to Garrett's side. "Champion, it is beginning."

Philippa drew her staff and waited, Garrett moving instinctively to her side. Fenris moved to stand with Bethany, the sultry pirate was covering an elven mage Philippa had never met, and Varric was making a very small meat shield for Anders. The red headed guardswoman was off to the side, watching over everything at once. The door rattled again and Philippa guessed she was hearing the sound of a battering ram. She laid down no less than three glyphs at the entrance and she felt the others emulating her traps along the corridor that made a bottleneck of the door. Someone among them was casting with blood magic. She could feel the sticky sensation just like when Jowan had pulled on the Veil when he escaped Kinloch. The first waves through the entrance were going to have a very bad time of it. Someone laid the ground work for a wall of fire in an arch around the hall that spilled into the room. It would likely spring up as soon as anyone got close enough.

Philippa felt her spells burst as the glyphs activated beneath the feet of the first men through as the door shattered. She immediately set down more further in as the templar bodies began to pile up in the hall, making it harder for more of them to make their way inside. Finally, the templars started to bring their abilities into play and dispelled the majority of the traps that had been laid as secondary lines of defense by other circle mages. They trampled over their dead comrades and pushed past the wall of fire, the spell completely taken out of play. As a few templars made their way in, Philippa noticed a mage or two slipping past the madness and trying to escape. They were cut down almost immediately.

When there was a lull in the action and Philippa could take a breath and check on the injured, she noticed Orsino looking around at all of the mayhem. "Look at it all," he sighed. "Why don't they just drown us as infants? Why wait? Why give us the illusion of hope?" He spun and growled angrily. "I refuse to keep running! I won't wait for her to kill me."

"I hope you aren't giving up without even taking a shot at Meredith," Garrett chuckled as Philippa approached him and healed a cut on his forearm that was bleeding profusely.

"I am not giving up. I'm giving in," Orsino growled, a knife appearing in his hand. "Quentin's research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside. But I see now there is no other way." More templars started to rush in and stopped in their tracks as Orsino shouted. "Meredith expects blood magic? Then I will give it to her. Maker help us all..."

He slit his own wrist and mana and blood began to swirl around him. Garrett shouted, but it was too late. Philippa cringed against the headache as Orsino's body lifted into the air and the sticky pull of the magic made her recoil. The bodies of all the mages around the room began to drag limply across the floor toward Orsino. As they reached him, they lifted, limbs flailing and flopping unnaturally as their clothes began to disappear and their flesh fused. Random body parts stuck out at strange places all over the massive lump of magically fused flesh and bone. Philippa could barely make out the shape of a man as the abomination grew and swelled before their eyes. When the spell ended, it had two spindly legs and two bony arms. The rest of it's body was a giant round ball with a nasty little head on top that had two sets of arms sticking out and flopping around comically from it's neck and where it's ears should have been. It's eyes were cloudy but they burned with anger. It's mouth gaped, showing off large rounded teeth from between which a long dripping tongue sagged. It let out a gurgling roar before it started to attack. It didn't discriminate, attacking not only templars but Garrett's people and Circle mages.

Philippa felt sandwiched. She spun and saw more templars coming down the hall and she threw up a wall of fire between them and the room. "You'll stay put while we deal with this if you know what's good for you!" she shouted. She ignored whether they were going to listen or not and began to attack the blobby Orsino.

The thing was made of magic and most of her attacks seemed to bounce off of it, so she allowed Garrett to distract it with his blades while she approached it from the rear to put her staff to use as a quarterstaff, beating heavily against the sagging flesh. Being so large, it was lumbering and slow. Philippa thought it defeated when the body fell to the ground, but from inside the neck, the head slipped out, looking like a gigantic grey tadpole with arms. It hissed and scurried away faster than she thought possible. "Ew," Anders said, perfectly summing up what was going on in her own stunned mind.

"Find it!" she shouted as shades and undead began to manifest around the room, amping up her headache to maximum. Most of the other mages were already dead, having been slapped around the room by the hulking mass of flesh made up of their comrades. She did a head count and sighed in relief seeing that her siblings and Garrett's friends were all still whole. Then as they killed off the shades and undead, Philippa noted that a flow of magic was seeping from each of the bodies and into the mass, healing all of the damage that they had done to it. "Shit," she growled. Suddenly, the scurrying head reappeared, and flitted across the room, running on it's hands and jammed it's tail end into the hole it had left in the top of the monster. Then the abomination stood up, whole again, and swiped at Garrett and Fenris with a bony arm. The it turned it's attention on her. She rolled out of it's way, separating her from the others. What she needed to do was kill the head. That was the source. That must have been what was left of Orsino himself. As the others worked to weaken the body, Philippa formed an idea. She sheathed her staff and ran for the giant thing. She jumped up and dug her heels into the squishy flesh of it's round belly and grabbed hold of the flopping arms coming from the head. She ignored concerned shouts and began to repeatedly jam her fist into the head, using her physical magic to strengthen her blows and stun the creature, then pulled with everything she had. She felt the suction give and adjusted her hold, grabbing closer to the head. Pulling again, she gritted her teeth and leaned backward, pushing with her legs. Finally, the head wrenched free and Philippa had to toss it away and lean forward to ride the body down as it crashed to the floor. She scrambled up as quickly as possible, tripping on her skirts, while the head tried to right itself. No sooner had it gotten upright than Garrett was across the room and jamming the spiked heel of his boot into it's face. The sickening crunch of it's skull and the squish of it's brains made bile rise in her throat, but still, he stomped a second time, just to make certain.

"Gross," Varric grumbled, quickly checking that her wall of fire was still in place and the templars properly kept at bay while they recovered. "You had better hope your house is still standing when this is over, Hawke. You need a really long bath."

"The house should be fine. The blast was concentrated to the Chantry alone," Anders pointed out, immediately pressing his lips together as several of them turned a glare on him.

"Come on. We still need to deal with Meredith," Garrett sighed, shaking his leg to flick most of the gore from his boot. Philippa slipped around the pile of meat that had been the abomination. "Phil, I will never again underestimate your willingness to punch an abomination to death. That's twice, now, you've figured out the magical mechanics behind a threat and proceeded to show me up."

"She's impressive... You're very impressive," the dark haired young elven mage said rapidly, smiling sweetly. "I'm Merrill, by the way. I forget the rules on asking your name."

Garrett chuckled, ruffling the girl's hair. "It's all right to ask, Merrill. That's Phil."

"Oh, your twin! I've heard so much about you, but we've never met. I'm Merrill... Shoot, I already told you that..." the elf rambled, making Philippa glance at Garrett and smirk. He shrugged and tipped his head so the others would follow.

The fight through the Gallows led them to more and more carnage. She felt as if she were doing a terrible job of helping defend the mages. The ones that had been outside the Harrowing Chamber had either managed to flee or were among the corpses strewn throughout the Gallows. She tried not to look, ignoring all of the death that had been wrought. Women, children, people she had been associated with laid dead. They found small pockets of hidden mages and she directed them to the tunnels that let out in the sewers. The templars they came across, they were forced to kill. When they made it back to the courtyard, Meredith was waiting with another small army. Philippa was oddly relieved to see that Cullen was still alive and standing at the Knight-Commander's back. Carver was with her too, looking around at all of the destruction with an indecisive look on his face. "And here we are, Champion. At long last."

Garrett brushed imaginary dirt from his sleeve and said, "I imagine you've wanted to be rid of me for some time."

"I bear you know ill will," Meredith said casually. "You've done this to yourself. In defending these mages, you've chosen to share their fate."

Almost immediately, Cullen stepped from behind Meredith to face her and place himself blatantly between her and them. "Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to _arrest_ the Champion."

"You will do as I command, Cullen," Meredith growled, as surprised by the insubordination as Philippa was.

Even more surprising were Cullen's next words. "No. I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad, but this is too far."

"I will not allow insubordination!" Meredith drew her greatsword and Philippa gasped at the pull of magic and the humming song that accompanied the act as the sword glowed red. "We must stay true to our path!"

"Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks," Varric whispered as Garrett, Bethany and Anders all seemed to recognize what they were looking at, and Meredith pointed the sharp end at Cullen, making him back up a step, his hands up in submission.

Meredith glanced at them and grinned. "You recognize it, do you not? Pure Lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads." Meredith brought the sword in front of her and grazed her fingers gently along the blade. The red glow illuminated her face in the twilight hours, making her look the part of the sinister villain that she was already playing so well. "The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize."

"It seems a lot more sword-like than I remember," Garrett japed, his expression far from the joking facade he was putting out. She had no idea what powers the sword held, but the tension in the courtyard had just increased tenfold.

Meredith sneered. "All of you, I want him dead!" Garrett stood his ground, trying very hard not to flinch as Meredith pointed the sword at him, the tip mere inches from his nose. The humming of the Lyrium song made Philippa's skin crawl. It was not the usual pleasant melody of normal lyrium.

"No! I won't kill my brother for you!" Carver shouted, stepping from behind her and moving closer to their group.

"You dare!" Meredith growled, her eyes narrowing.

"Enough!" Cullen shouted. "This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, step down! I relieve you of your command!"

Meredith's arm fell limp, her eyes widening in shock. "My own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic. You all have! You're all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me." She was turning rapidly and brandishing the sword in all directions, the templars around her all backing up instinctively as she accused them. "But I don't need any of you! I will protect this city myself!"

The sword was back in Garrett's face and he stared Meredith down boldly. Carver stepped forward, putting himself in the sword's path. "You'll have to go through me."

Cullen drew his sword and stood beside Carver. "And me."

"Traitors," Meredith snarled. "I'll have both your heads."

"She's lost it, just like Bartrand," Varric whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Meredith took a deep breath and closed her eyes, twirling the sword so it pointed at the ground. She stabbed it into the stone and a rush of magic built up around her. "Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter!"

Meredith rushed at Garrett, yanking the blade free. Philippa drew her staff and arched it between them, a wall of fire blazing up from the ground. It slowed Meredith only briefly as her blade cut through the magic. When Philippa swiped her staff upwards and connected with Meredith's chin, the woman stumbled backward and looked surprised. Then she rushed forward again with new focus. Philippa had never really seen Meredith fight before, and her skills were impressive. Even with so many surrounding her and challenging her, with the help of whatever magic the sword possessed, she was a force to be reckoned with. After Philippa had challenged her so spectacularly, she had given up all interest in Garrett and was bearing down on Philippa with every attack. Philippa did her best to stay out of her reach, but Meredith had super human speed, thanks to the sword. Even after she Fade stepped, Meredith was there, swiping at her. With another jab as Philippa backpedaled, the sword made contact. Fiery pain lanced through Philippa's gut as the tip of Meredith's blade pierced her flesh. It slipped through her as if she were made of butter. As she yanked it back out, ready to finish her, Carver pounced from Meredith's left, ramming into her with his shoulder.

Philippa's vision swam as she looked down at the new hole in her torso. She remembered being impaled on the Qunari's spear, but it was nothing compared to the fire coursing through her veins, now. The sword was made partially of raw lyrium. The regular blue lyrium, if handled incorrectly was deadly, especially to mages. It attacked the nervous system, firing off every pain sensation at once, overloading their system. She reached down and placed an unsteady hand over the leaking wound, trying to staunch the blood. She stumbled to the side, smacking against the upraised median on the stairs and cried out, trying to call for her mana as she dropped her staff. She slumped, her legs giving out as the pain arched in waves through her nerves. Hands landed on her arms, guiding her a bit more gently to the ground. "Hawke, can you hear me?"

She nodded, her aching body recognizing his humming Ferelden accent, even if she couldn't focus her eyes to look at him. "Satchel," she mumbled and then remembered she had set it down back in the Harrowing Chamber. She flinched and gritted her teeth as a fresh wave of agony jolted through her. "Shit."

His hand pressed over top of hers, reminding her she was supposed to be putting pressure on it. The sensation of the weight of his hand made her hiss and wriggle away from him. He grunted in response. "Now is not the time to be your stubborn self, Hawke." She attempted to relax and his hand settled more heavily on her side. He was silent for a moment, but then he said, "This wound isn't all that deep. Maker, why is it bleeding so heavily."

She swallowed, tasting that coppery taste of blood that she recalled from being spitted before. "Lyrium..." she said in explanation.

He grunted again. "Of course..."

She shifted, moving to lie on her side. "I need... healer..."

Cullen growled. "You _are_ a healer, Hawke. Bloody wake up and help yourself."

A soft snort escaped her lips. "Oh, right..." Her mind wavered in and out of concentration as the battle raged around her and Cullen held his hand pressed against the seeping wound. She fumbled for her magic, knowing she was incapable of healing this on her own. She shouted into the Fade, calling for help. If she had been in her right mind, she would have been more careful, but as she bled out and her nervous system slowly fried, she didn't have time to be picky. A new pain joined the one already lancing through her, letting her know that more than a few demons had attempted to answer her call. She feebly pushed her way through them as they clamored for her attention searching for one of the friendly wisps that she usually turned to when she needed to cast a spirit healing spell. Finally, the wisp found it's way to her, slipping into her core to supply the energy necessary to staunch the bleeding and purge her blood of the lyrium leeching through her veins. As the wound closed over, she gasped in a breath, the discomfort of her flesh mending itself prickling through her and raising gooseflesh on her arms. "Andraste's ass," she cursed as she could finally focus on Cullen's face. She slipped her hand back over the closing wound, cringing and jostling his palm off her. "I'll be fine. Go... help..." She still felt woozy and her head was swimming, but the others needed every sword they had. Cullen looked reluctant to leave her, but she pushed him away, propping herself up against the median.

With hatred blazing in her eyes Meredith fought. Philippa watched as those still fighting, knocked her down to her knees. Garrett approached her, ready to finish it, but she called out. "Maker, your servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil!" Her eyes were glowing red and she stood.

Philippa's jaw nearly hit the ground as Meredith jumped and she sailed upwards to do a flip a few stories in the air before coming down with a crash onto the outcropping in the middle of the stairs above where Philippa was leaning. When she jammed the sword into the stone again, shock waves of magic resonated outwards from her toward the massive bronze statues lined up outside the Gallows. One by one, the statues began to come to life, animated by the sword's magic. Garrett's eyes widened as he grumbled something to himself as he backed further away from the statues and Philippa started to think about what types of magic might work on a 60 foot statue made of bronze. She started with the most obvious. "Get back!" She shouted at the templars who had rushed the legs of the statue as it stepped from it's perch and made it's way down toward them. She dragged herself to her feet and harnessed all of her electricity to unleash it on the nearest statue. It froze, seizing as the lightning traveled through the conductive metal it's body. It fell quickly, the head rolling away from the rest of the body as more of the statues began to come to life.

Philippa fell back on her ass and Anders shouted at her. "Stay down! We've got this!" She hoped that between the three of them, Anders, Bethany and Merrill would have enough electricity to handle all of the slave statues. They needed to take out Meredith. Fast.

It was difficult to get a lock on her even with your eyes as she flitted with inhuman speed back and forth through the fray and took advantage of the distraction of the statues. However, every now and then, someone would get lucky and land a hit on her. Meredith retreated to her outcropping and did another of her power ups before darting back down to engage Garrett personally. The Knight-Commander was bleeding and had several bolts sticking from her limbs, but she didn't seem to notice as she swung at Garrett. He dodged in and out of her reach, swiping his blades at her until his pirate friend stepped in as he began to flag.

Finally, Meredith took a bad hit from Bethany's magic and stumbled backwards, a few of the statues crashing to the ground. Garrett bore down on her as she shouted. "I will not be defeated!" She held the sword up before her, pointed at the sky. "Maker! Aid your humble servant!" Her voice was strained and the magic surrounding her was beginning to let off strange black tendrils of wispy smoke. When she drew on the sword's power again, it glowed a bright red and then suddenly shattered, a shock wave of energy knocking everyone back and Philippa shielded her eyes. The sword burst into so many pieces that they were too small to see as they were carried away on the wind. Meredith screamed in agony and clutched at her head as she fell to her knees, the magic swirling around her and burning her up from the inside. The short ragged shouts began to slow and as they watched, Meredith seized and shook, her body freezing in an agonized claw at the sky before turning black, veined with fiery rivulets of orange as though she were made of cooling lava.

Garrett approached her with caution as the last of the statues fell. Philippa dragged herself to her feet again, clutching her side as she limped toward the Knight-Commander. Garrett's companions made it to his side, just in time for the remaining templars to surround them. He stood stock still as the mood of the courtyard was decided in silence. One of the female templars ran over and knelt before Meredith, reaching out to touch her before pulling her hand back in fear before even making contact. Cullen watched it all stoically, his amber eyes moving back and forth from Meredith to Garrett and then to Philippa. She noted the stream of blood that was trickling down his chin from a nasty looking cut on the right side of his face. When the templar shook her head at him, he made one last brief scan of the room before making eye contact with Garrett. They exchanged an understanding and he took a few steps back, his sword lowering to his side. Philippa watched as the rest of the templars followed his lead and backed away, opening up a hole for him and his people to leave.

Garrett looked at Philippa and beckoned her toward him. With a grimace, she cringed, shaking her head before swaying. Carver was beside her, catching her before she could fall. Maker knew she should go with Garrett. If she ever had a chance to be free, it was now. If Garrett had anything to say about it, no one would stop her from leaving. She was certain she was probably the only mage left in the Gallows, but that was no reason to abandon her life and everything she knew. The city would need to rebuild, and if she knew anything it was that her brother was likely going to grab Anders and get as far away from Kirkwall as they possibly could. Without Anders, there would be no healer to help the innocent people caught in the middle. She had a duty to help wherever she could. "Go, Garrett..." she said softly.

He gaped at her and then looked from her to Carver and then to Cullen, who shrugged lightly. "I'll make sure she's safe," Carver said sheepishly from her side.

Without another word, Anders settled his hand on Garrett's shoulder and her brother glanced at him before giving her one last look and turning away from the Gallows.

Philippa numbly stood around the new statue in the gallows courtyard with the remaining templars, clutching her side as it continued to lance jolts of pain through her body. She was in need of a healing potion, but she dreaded the walk back inside. It was as if everything surrounding the Gallows had frozen. No one seemed to know what to do. Bodies littered the courtyard, laying among the remains of the bronze statues that had fallen inert as the sword's magic dissipated.

Finally, Philippa broke the silence by clearing her throat. "Does..." She hissed as her side sparked again. "Does anyone need healing?" She glanced particularly at Cullen and his bloody mouth.

A few of the templars flinched at the sudden sound, but Cullen was the first to step forward. "No one moreso than yourself." He reached up, touching his fingers to the inch long gash in his upper-lip that had barely missed his nose on the way down. Hissing lightly, he continued. "Ser Carver, get your sister inside and into a bed. Get her whatever she needs. The rest of you, start gathering the dead. Once we get the Gallows sorted, we will need to get back into the city and help the guard restore order."

Carver moved back to Philippa's side and offered her his arm. She took it gladly, leaning lightly on him as he helped her shuffle around and back toward the stairs. "I want to go with the templars into the city," she said as Carver helped her navigate the obstacle laden floor of the main hall.

"That is up to the Knight-Commander," Carver said softly. "First, I think you should lay down before you fall down."

It sounded strange for Carver to be referring to Cullen as the Knight-Commander, but it made sense. With Meredith dead, it was only fair that as the one who had led the templars in the final battle, he should assume the role. "Will they really make Cullen the Knight-Commander? Doesn't he need to be voted in by the Chantry?"

"What Chantry?" Carver asked grumpily. "Anders made sure there was no Chantry in Kirkwall. We're on our own until news reaches Orlais."

They made it to the infirmary and Philippa gingerly lowered herself on to the edge of a bed while directing Carver to the healing potions. As the potion worked it's way through her system, purging her blood of the last of the lyrium poison, the ache in her side slowed to a dull throb. Her fingers still tingled at the tips, making her think there may be a bit of nerve damage that no spell or potion would heal. It would take time for her body to recover after what it went through.

After a few minutes, Cullen knocked on the open door, making his presence known before stepping into the infirmary. "You're looking better, Enchanter Hawke," he said formally. Someone had performed a swift stitching on his lip. She studied it carefully before she answered him, wondering why he wouldn't take a potion, or allow her to heal him. The stitching, for the haste it had been done in, seemed to have been done with a steady hand. The wound had been cleaned, the skin surrounding the area red and aggravated.

She shook the empty bottle in the air before her, "The wonders a healing potion can work," she said. "Although, being spitted by a sword made of raw lyrium has made it to my list of 'don't do that again'. It's right underneath torture, but slightly above being hit with a smite."

Cullen broke free of his formal stance and an exhaled breath escaped his nose in amusement. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I want to go into the city," Philippa announced.

"I don't know if that's..." he began, but she cut him off.

"I stayed, not because I have any allegiance to the Gallows, but because if I left with Garrett, the city would have no one with any magical healing ability. The common folk are going to need my help as much as anyone injured here... I also think that if we were to find any of the mages that managed to escape, it might make coaxing them back into the Circle easier if they could see that I was with you and not being murdered where I stood. We can avoid more bloodshed, Knight- _Captain_ ," she said pointedly, narrowing her eyes and challenging him to argue.

Cullen sighed heavily. "The rest of the templars are sweeping the Gallows now, under strict orders that anyone they find is to be brought into custody alive. There has been enough death for one day," he agreed. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed again. "I want you to stay here for the time being, if you're up for it, and tend to anyone that might be injured. After the bodies have been cleared, I will put together a small unit to head into the city. Pack whatever you will need."


	19. Cleaning Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Aftermath of the Chantry explosion, Cullen and Philippa come to an unspoken agreement as the clean up of the city begins.

A few hours later, Cullen came to the infirmary to collect Philippa. She had treated no less than seven templars with minor burns or bruising, and they had found a handful of mages still hiding out inside the Gallows. She treated the terrified mages and assured them that the nightmare was over. She had every confidence in Cullen and his ability to see reason since he had so thoroughly stood up to Meredith in defense of her and her family.

In the courtyard, a large pyre had been built and the bodies of both the templars and mages were being stripped of armor and laid together. Philippa frowned. "What happened to the abomination in the Harrowing Chamber?" she asked softly, keeping her voice low in respect.

Cullen looked down at her as he walked beside her. "We couldn't move it. Some suggested we... separate it down... I quashed that idea, as you can imagine. I was actually hoping you might have a suggestion. Once we return, that is."

Philippa nodded as they left the courtyard and headed for the docks and the waiting ferry. "I could erect a barrier around it and burn it, just like a pyre, but a bit hotter. That should get the job done quickly without damaging the Chamber. Then all you'll need is a dustpan."

Cullen frowned slightly at her levity. "I'll remind you those were people before the First Enchanter defiled them."

"Yes. Mages like me. That Meredith ordered killed for no reason. I'll remind you, Knight-Captain, that I was there when Orsino betrayed himself. I had to fight that monstrosity. I'm well aware what that thing used to be," she retorted. "If I don't laugh about it, I might just scream. And then I would be of no use to anyone." She pushed ahead of him, climbing onto the ferry to sit down on an isolated bench near the rear. The other templars that he had chosen included Kerran, Carver, Moira, and Paxley. She crossed her arms and legs, staring out over the water.

As the ferry started toward the city, she could see fires burning all over, remnants of the explosion. Some buildings where the huge stone rubble had landed were shattered or crumbling. The closer they got to the docks, the more she could hear the sounds of screaming and crying. The ferry pulled up alongside a rather impressive ship docked in the harbor, some familiar faces on deck, making it ready to sail. There were more welcome faces when she made her way off the ferry. "Garrett!" she called, rushing to his side.

He had cleaned himself up, dressed in some casual clothing and carried a pack with him that looked weighed down. He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled widely. "Phil!" He hugged her tightly. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but then noticed her small armed escort as they followed her. "I suppose this doesn't mean you've changed your mind and are coming with us."

She glanced back around at Cullen who shooed the other templars back, allowing Carver to approach as well. "You see what is happening in the city, Garrett. You know I can help. I understand you need to leave, but I'm needed here."

Garrett sighed and hugged her again. "I'm glad you got here when you did. It's good we get to say goodbye."

"When you get wherever you're going, send me a letter. You don't have to tell me any details, I just want to know you're safe," she requested. "And remember what I said in the Harrowing Chamber..." she flicked her eyes to Anders who was talking with Merrill a short distance away, his own pack over his shoulder.

"I'll be careful, sister. And I promise to write. Take care of yourself." He kissed the top of her head and let her go.

She went back to the templars and stood beside Cullen, rubbing the tips of her tingling fingers together as Carver said his goodbyes, making the rounds between a few of the others, knowing them better than Philippa had. She could feel Cullen's eyes on her as she watched the scene unfold. He leaned closer to her, his voice low. "Are you feeling all right?"

She looked up at him and he nodded his head toward her busy fingers, his brows raised in question. "Just a few fried nerve endings from the lyrium. I can still cast, and I feel fine. It will just take time. Lyrium poison is not something a normal mage usually walks away from."

His right brow rose a little higher than the other. "Do you think you survived because of... what you are?"

She shrugged, rubbing her palms on her thighs before flexing her fingers and trying to ignore the tingling. "It's my best guess. A lot of things I've learned about being a somniari are in some form, 'my best guess'," she chuckled. "I don't really have a guidebook."

He hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose I should be grateful that you are apparently more discerning than you let on. Magic and guesswork are rarely a good combination."

"Oh, I don't know. It's worked for me so far," she said with a smile.

The right side of his mouth lifted ever so slightly before he wiped away the answering smile, flinching as it tugged at his stitched lip.

After Garrett boarded the ship, Carver returned to the group and they set out to sweep the city, Cullen speaking with Garrett's red headed guard friend first. Guard-Captain Aveline, apparently. Varric also seemed ready to lend a hand, offering to head into Darktown and flush out anyone that might be causing a ruckus in the undercity. Aveline grudgingly shooed him off when he smoothly talked his way around her objections.

As they made their way through the city, starting with the warehouses on the docks, putting out fires and helping when they found people in trouble, Philippa had ample chance to let her abilities free. She snuffed fires and lifted rubble, healed the injured and offered amnesty to the few mages that they discovered. Cullen said nothing when she used her soft and soothing tones to talk the frightened mages from the brink. She had been right when suggesting her presence would show that the senseless killing was at an end. The mages trusted her, and finally, after so many years, she could see that Cullen trusted her.

Kirkwall was a big city. They had barely made it a third of the way through Lowtown when Philippa felt her mana dwindling. She toughed it out until she had nothing left. Cullen grimaced and set his hand on her shoulder. "I would offer you a lyrium potion, but we discovered that during the chaos, our stores were raided. There's nothing left."

She balked. "I thought only the Knight-Commander and the Tranquil had access to the lyrium stores."

He scowled. "I have my suspicions as to the culprit, but I have no proof."

She drew him to the side, out of earshot of the other templars. "I can rebuild my mana without lyrium. What about the templars? They need their daily ration or..."

He cut her off. "I'm aware, Hawke. I'm estimating we have about a week before we start to see a decline in performance and symptoms of withdrawal. I've sent a raven to neighboring cities requesting aide. All we can do is wait and get the remaining tranquil to prepare as much as they can in the meantime."

She pressed her lips together in sympathy. "If I can help with anything in the infirmary, let me know."

Cullen sighed. "Right now, I need to inform the Guard-Captain that our healer is spent. We should return to the Gallows and you should get some rest." Before she could protest, he held up his hand. "I will send a second group to continue the sweep of the city and make it known that anyone in need of medical care is welcome to see you in the Gallows... tomorrow."

His stern expression told her there was no use in arguing, so she sighed and swept her arms toward the docks. "After you, Knight-Captain."

Cullen sent Paxley with the message to Aveline, and they all headed back to the Gallows, four more mages in tow. The Gallows was going to be a very empty place. Phillippa was dragging her heels by the time they got off the ferry and headed back into the Circle. In the courtyard, the pyre that had been stacked as high as they dared, was already burning, lighting the darkened sky. The scent of the smoke and oil, mixed with charring meat and burning wood threatened to turn her empty stomach. It made her realize that she had not eaten anything since breakfast, foregoing her lunch to pay Cullen a visit before everything blew up. Quite literally.

She was too tired to care. Inside the Gallows, was just as empty as she had expected. She had been out and about at night before in the desolation that was the Circle after hours, but the feeling was different when she knew that the mages weren't all tucked in their beds. It was eerie. She was struck with the realization that she was currently walking about the Gallows after hours without having to fear being witnessed by a templar. With that realization, she diverted from her path that had been leading her straight to her room, and headed for the kitchens after all. If she didn't put something in her belly, all of her healing magic, and the efforts she had put forth that sapped her mana would come back to bite her in the ass.

She grabbed an apple and half a sandwich before slipping back out of the kitchens and this time heading directly for her room. She inhaled the sandwich as she walked and started in on the apple just before reaching her door. There was something comforting about her personal space as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She moved to her bed, settling her staff in a crevasse by the door, the bottom wedged against a crack in the floor so it didn't fall. She sat on the edge of her bed, reaching for her nightstand with her still tingling fingers as she took another bite of her apple. She pulled open the drawer and lifted Bethany's stuffed animal from inside, tucking her legs up under her to sit cross-legged. She laid the well-worn toy in her lap and smiled, thinking about how far her sister had come. She had a gentle heart and was a talented mage. She had been forced into a life that she hadn't asked for, much like Philippa herself, and also like Philippa, she had rose to the challenge, accepting it and mastering it. She glanced away from the toy and smiled at her tiny glass dragon that had survived so much, sitting on her nightstand beside the candle holder. With her twitching fingers, she didn't dare pick that up like she had the toy. As she finished off the apple, she wondered what was next.

She woke in the morning after a fitful sleep. In her weakened state, the damage to her system still healing and her drained mana, the demons had seen fit to bother her. That was what they were anymore. A bother. No longer the terrifying bogeymen she had endured as a child. She could sleep through their nagging, simply moving herself to a different part of the Fade if she wished, but that took energy. She hadn't had an abundance of that the night before, so she had endured the whisperings of no less than three demons as she tried to ignore them, rebuilding her strength for what promised to be a busy day.

She dragged herself from her bed, going to her trunk and pulling out her final set of spare robes. She headed to the showers to get cleaned up, seeing no one along the way as she normally would. After scrubbing the mess from her skin that was still clinging after her brief wash up the day before, she stood before the mirror in the washroom, inspecting the angry looking scar that ran a good five inches up her side. It was bright red and jagged, the red lyrium having leeched the edges of the cut so quickly that even the pristinely sharp blade didn't leave a clean cut. The other scars from her days in the dungeons with Alrik still stood stark against her pale skin, but they were trifles compared to the ugly marks that Meredith's blade had left behind. And yes, marks was plural, for when she turned around, the entry wound had a twin on her back where the blade had exited, just shy of the small scar that had practically disappeared from the Qunari spear. The flesh around the new mark was still tender and her insides ached, much like after the Qunari incident as well. The most troubling concern was her still tingling fingertips. It was going to be difficult to handle small objects while that persisted. Sighing, she slipped into her clean robes and tossed her hair to the side so it would dry.

She reported to the dining hall simply out of habit. Finding only templars in attendance, she sheepishly gathered a few mobile items and heading directly for the infirmary to avoid the surprised stares of the templars at seeing a mage roaming free in the Gallows. All of the others had been isolated after they were found or returned from the city. She nibbled on her blueberry muffin, picking the sugary crust from he top as she strolled down the hall. When she reached the infirmary, Cullen was waiting just inside the door, startling her when he cleared his throat as she entered. "Enchanter Hawke..."

Her knee-jerk response sent her a step or two in reverse and she dropped her orange. He reached out and caught it before it hit the floor while she cursed him. "Maker's breath! Why are you lurking?"

He nervously apologized, handing her back the piece of fruit before rubbing the back of his neck. "I... didn't realize I was 'lurking'. I finished the letters that I needed to send out to Orlais and the Divine, and I came to see how you were. You're getting a late start. Are you well?"

"A bit sore," she admitted, moving to her desk and setting down the few things in her hands. "But I'm ready to face the day. So long as nobody goes insane today and tries to kill everyone, that is."

He nodded. "If you're feeling up to it, I was wondering if we might go to the Harrowing Chamber and take care of the..." he cleared his throat, searching for the word he felt was most palatable. "mess."

"Of course," she agreed, brushing her hands together to remove the crumbs from her muffin. "I worry what that might draw out if it stays too long. Not to mention the odor that might come off a pile of fused corpses if left too long." She followed him from the infirmary, his stride stiff. She found her eyes wandering to the stitched up cut on his lip. "Why don't you let me take care of your lip?" she asked cautiously.

He cringed at the thought of that, and grunted. "Your mana can best serve for more important things than my tiny nick."

"I'd call that more than a nick, but suit yourself." She shrugged. At least the Gallows Harrowing Chamber didn't require a long trek up several flights of stairs like Kinloch had. She wasn't certain she would have the stamina.

As they passed into the chamber from the long narrow hallway, Philippa reached over and rubbed her palm over the bracelet that Finn had given her, prodding at the damage Orsino might have done to the veil with his insane spell and the demons that had followed it through. "What is that?" Cullen asked with curiosity as she twisted the bracelet around her wrist, frowning.

She glanced up at him, smiling. Then she held her arm up for him to get a better look at the bracelet. "These crystals are cut specifically to resonate with the strength of the Veil. Finn had it made for my birthday after I started my somniari studies. It helps me focus whenever I need to get into the Fade, or like now when I can get a look at any damage that might have been done to the Veil. Plus it's pretty," she added jokingly.

He pursed his lips, repressing a smile. "So what is it telling you now?"

"That we're bloody lucky," she said, dropping her arm back to her side and approaching the detached head that Garrett had smashed with his boot. She knelt reluctantly and drew her staff, using it to flop a few bits of the wrinkled mess back into place. With a wet smack, one of the eyeballs rolled out of it's socket. "We're going to need to comb Orsino's office once were finished here. He was hoarding books on blood magic somewhere." She got up from her crouch. "We can't risk the next First Enchanter finding those secrets. I don't know every mage in the Gallows. Who is Quentin?"

Cullen frowned as he seemed to ponder briefly before he recalled what he had been searching for. "Quentin was no Circle mage..." he flinched before he lowered his tone. "He was... Quentin was the mage responsible for your mother's murder."

Philippa allowed the information to wash over her, rubbing her hands together as she held in a breath. Finally, she sighed it out, and crossed her arms. "Well, apparently Orsino learned his tricks from him. Just before he... changed, he said, 'Quentin's research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside. But I see now there is no other way'." She rolled her eyes and stepped back from the tadpole head. "It seems our 'First Enchanter' was in league with a murderer. It's a wonder how so much went on under Meredith's nose. As 'vigilant' as she was, she never knew what Orsino was doing behind closed doors."

Cullen studied her briefly, his brow creasing. "What would you have done with the 'research' if it had fallen into your hands?" he wondered softly.

She looked around at the horror, her lip curling back. In response, she drew on her mana, encircling the over-sized hunk of body-parts in a barrier and filled the bubble with a maelstrom of fire, pouring everything she had into the heat. The flames burned blue as they flickered over the mound of flesh, charring and melting the mass with the swiftness of a falcon swooping in to capture its prey from the water. She shuddered to think what the fire might have done if she hadn't encased it in the barrier where it was safe. "Those words never would have seen the light of day," she said softly as she watched the body disintegrate into the promised ash that they could easily dispose of.

He huffed slightly, but his expression said it was in thought rather than disapproval. "And that is answer enough for me," Cullen said. He paused momentarily as they both stared while the flames petered out. When she drew in her barrier, he glanced at her again. "If you have nothing else on your plate, I would appreciate of you accompanied me to the First Enchanter's office. You would know better than myself, what to look for.

"Have we heard any news from the city in regards to the injured?" she asked, following on his heels as he turned to exit the Harrowing Chamber.

"There were a few clerics that were out of the Chantry at the time of the explosion, and they have set up a small clinic in Lowtown to help with minor injuries. Understandably, many of the common folk are reluctant to trust any mage right now, even if your intentions are simply to help. I doubt we'll see many outsiders here," he explained gently as she felt her expression shift to annoyance.

"And the other mages in isolation? Are any of them in need of the infirmary?" she wondered, completely unsurprised by the city's reaction.

"There are only a few, but none of them seem in need of healing. It won't be long until they are released. We just needed to be certain they weren't going to lash out after they were brought back into Gallows. Templar casualties numbered nearly as high as the mages, and we don't have the manpower if they turned on us now."

She cringed and asked the question that she was dreading. "Do you have a count of the dead?"

He sighed, betraying his own grief. "It's impossible to tell at this point. We don't know how many of the mages were able to flee. That was another matter I was going to ask your assistance with..." he said. When she didn't protest, he glanced warily at her. "The phylactery chamber requires both a mage and a templar to enter. As the only mage in the Circle it seems I can trust at this point, I would appreciate your assistance in opening the door. If I can catalog the phylacteries that have gone dark, I will be able to say for certain how may mages were lost and how many simply escaped."

She allowed herself a small smirk, "Such high praise, Knight-Captain. 'The only mage in the Circle it seems I can trust'. What ever shall I have to aspire to now?"

"I'll admit, I was surprised when you didn't leave with your brother. Your actions previously certainly portrayed a low opinion of the Circle," he pointed out as they approached the First Enchanter's office.

As she unlocked the door with a small bit of physical magic, she pushed it open. "There is very little I remember of my family before I went to Kinloch Hold. The one thing that still lingers is something my father used to say. 'My magic will serve the best in me, not that which is most base'. Those words have gotten me through a lot of difficult times." She flicked through a few piles of papers on the desk. "I need to remind myself now and then, that I am better than the monster most people see me as simply for being born with magic."

When she realized he had stopped in the doorway as she stepped further into the room, she turned to regard him. His expression showed a pinched brow as he studied her, his nose slightly wrinkled just at the bridge. It wasn't disgust though. Again, he was looking at her like he was rewriting the carefully forged assessment of her that he had stored in his mind for the last eight years. "You're saying you wanted to leave, but you stayed so you could help?"

"Someone needed to be a face of reason for the mages. That someone was certainly not going to be Orsino. He allowed himself to be corrupted, just like Uldred." At mention of Uldred, Cullen flinched, but allowed her to continue. She sighed. "How much do you actually know of mages like me? Dreamers?"

He looked away sheepishly. "I was only told that you attract demons. Moreso than any other mage."

She rolled her eyes, moving to the bookshelves to study the spines of the books and tomes Orsino had on display. "Of course. Because what more should a templar need to know?" She paused, noticing the cracked and broken spine of one of the books and she pulled it from the shelf. "You said to me once that I was the 'worst of the lot'. Demons flock to me like a 'bitch in heat'. I believe those were your exact words." She crooked a brow at him and he shuffled his feet, his cheeks flushing. She opened the book to discover that the actual tome had been hollowed out, another, much smaller book hidden within. "While it's true that demons are certainly attracted to my power, their presence is also painful. For me that is... When I encounter a demon in the Fade, I get a headache. It's... tolerable, for a time, but the reason I requested to leave Kinloch after Uldred's coup was because he had nearly shattered the Veil in the tower..." She plucked the soft, leather bound book from it's hiding place and carefully untied the string holding it closed. "I could feel them... The foulness of them, hovering around me everywhere I went, and their presence outside the Fade is ten times more potent. Nothing in Thedas could ever convince me that allowing myself to become an abomination would improve my situation." She held up the notebook after looking through the first few pages. "So if I'm going to be stuck here, I'm certainly going to be useful."

His eyes grazing thoughtfully over her spoke volumes. He had heard what she had said and absorbed it, his thoughts on the matter unvoiced. Instead, he approached her, cocking his head to look at the book. "Is that what we're looking for?"

"Without delving further, I can tell it's technical notes, mostly about anatomy. It is a piece of what we need. The rest is probably scattered about the office. Orsino knew what he was doing when he kept these things. I'd love to know how he got his hands on them after my brother killed Quentin," she grumbled.

"The Champion never offered the templars the location of Quentin's lair, so we were never able to go in and sweep it for paraphernalia. It's likely one of the mages working with Thrask obtained the information and was able to retrieve the research," Cullen suggested.

"That's possible. It's also possible that Orsino was working with the bastard all along and knew where to look himself," she pointed out. "I knew Orsino hated Meredith, but for him to endanger so many lives... He was as mad as she was. He was just quieter about it."

Cullen sighed. "It would seem you're right. Let's find the rest of these notes and dispose of them. I'm glad you brought this to my attention. Thank you, Hawke."

It took them hours, shuffling through Orsino's cluttered office. He had another thin notebook in a false bottom in one of his desk drawers, another tome squirreled away underneath a bookshelf, twin volumes on opposite sides of a trunk, and another notebook in the seat of his wingback. Separately, the tomes were ambiguous, if a bit dangerous, but together, you got walking body parts. Philippa shuddered to think that state her mother had been in when Garrett found her. Glancing through the necromancy book, her expression must have betrayed her thoughts, because Cullen moved to her side and gently pulled it from her hands, closing it and setting it aside. She hugged herself. "We should burn these, like the body. No one should know these things."

She called her mana, but before lighting the fire in Orsino's fireplace, she looked at Cullen for permission. He nodded, his lips pressed together. She sent the sparks out and the logs caught easily. She stared at the flickering flames for a moment then picked up the smallest notebook first, tossing it onto the fire. The flames licked over the leather, looking like they were not touching it at all, and sending an odor like the scent of charring flesh through the room. The delicate pages inside burned much more quickly. Cullen deposited the next book, the fire crackling hungrily. They stood in silence as they burned all six books until there was nothing left. Finally, Cullen spoke. "I'll have the tranquil come in here and clear out the rest of Orsino's things." He glanced at Philippa and offered a small smile that made him flinch when it aggravated his stitches. "You may return to the infirmary. I apologize for interrupting your breakfast..." he shuffled his feet again and then continued. "It should be nearly lunch, now, however. If you'd allow me to make up for it, we could go to the dining hall."

She crossed her arms and smirked. "Together? Do you have ulterior motives, Knight-Captain, or are you actually trying to be sociable?"

"I _was_ trying to be polite, but if you're going to be your usual self, I might change my mind," he returned.

She continued to smile and held her palm out. "After you, Knight-Captain."

Philippa had never really spent time with Cullen when he wasn't being a templar. She had assumed that he was stoic by default, but when they weren't discussing the Circle, or magic, or the chaos that seemed to follow them around, he was actually secretly funny. She would never, of course, admit to that opinion. She maintained her own sarcastic demeanor and allowed him to play off her, keeping the conversation light as they shared a meal amidst a dining hall full of templars with little to do but watch as the Knight-Captain and the least trusted mage in the Gallows got on like friends while they shared a meal.

Philippa continued to help Cullen when he needed it, the rest of the mages slowly being let out of their cells and back into the fold. The trouble was, nobody quite knew what to do with them. Some were apprentices, and some Harrowed mages, but none seemed to suit the needs of any of the others. So all they did most days was keep to themselves or the library idly taking on menial tasks while the templars made sure no one got into any mischief.

The Phylactery Chamber was disheartening. The day following the search of Orsino's office, Cullen led her deep into the ground below the Gallows, even further than the dungeons. When they reached a door that hummed with an enchantment, Cullen pulled his sword, knelt, the sword pointed tip to the ground in front of him, and uttered a short phrase that sounded like a prayer. She watched him closely, hearing a small pop in the atmosphere as the phrase changed the flow of energy around them, before he stood and re-sheathed his sword. "I've primed the door. Now, it requires the touch of mana from a mage who's been through the Harrowing. Any spell should do," he said.

She drew a small bit of mana and cast some spirit energy at the door. The lock clicked and Cullen smiled. She glanced at him and asked, "Was the Harrowing Chamber in Kinloch Hold similarly guarded?"

He hummed. "It was."

"So how were Solona and Jowan able to gain access and destroy Jowan's Phylactery?" she wondered as Cullen pushed open the door and stepped into the hall where another door stood, ringed in runes. She felt her magic dampened as she approached the door and shuddered.

He handed her a small iron key, explaining as he produced a matching key for himself. "The apprentice had somehow ingratiated himself with a young Chantry initiate. She knew the way into the Chamber and they convinced Amell to help them. As for the rune door," he tipped his head toward the door they stood in front of. "They procured a rod of fire and melted the lock on the door into the halls that led to the repository and then used that same rod to amplify the magic in a relic there and blast a hole in the wall on the opposite side, avoiding the door all together."

Philippa chuckled. "Sol always was a bit too smart for her own good."

"That sounds terribly familiar," he mumbled with a smirk as he slipped his key into the hole on his side of the door and indicated she do the same.

"Careful, Knight-Captain. Keep complimenting me and I'll start to believe you like me," she joked.

"Maker forbid," he said with his own chuckle.

When they stepped inside, Philippa was awestruck by the Chamber. Walls of shelves lined the circumference or the room. A thin layer of ice coated the floor and several surfaces, a dusting of snowflakes covering the rest. The room was magically kept in a perpetual winter to preserve the blood vials. She hugged herself against the cold and glanced around. "So when you say, 'went dark', what do you mean?"

"When a Phylactery is put into use by a templar, the spell surrounding the essence from it's donor will cause it to glow. The steadier the glow, the closer to the person you are. If the Phylactery does not react, it means the mage is dead," he explained. Then he sighed, looking around at all of the shelves laden with Phylacteries. "This is going to take some time. I thank you for assisting in opening the door, but you don't need to stay if you don't wish."

She pursed her lips at him and then smiled. "How about I go and get us some nice warm tea, and I'll keep you company. Maker knows I wouldn't want to be down here on my own."

He looked mildly shocked, but he nodded his head slowly. "I can't say I relish the idea either. If you have nothing else that requires your attention..."

She snorted. "I'm a mage with no responsibilities and an empty infirmary. It's not like I'll be taking a stroll into the city any time soon. I'll be right back."

She headed back up through the dungeons and toward the kitchens, passing by the storage rooms on her way. A clattering sound drew her attention to the storage room. She slowed to a crawl as heavy breathing joined the sounds of someone making a mess. She paused completely outside the door and craned her neck to peer through the crack that had been left in the door. Inside, she saw the recently reappointed Ser Samson turning the entire place upside down. She was conflicted. If she left and tried to find someone to tell, he may be gone when she got back. If she confronted him herself, she was well aware of how helpless a templar's abilities could make her. She bit her lip and finally decided against caution.

She pushed open the door and cleared her throat. "Ser Samson? I'm fairly certain that the tranquil did not organize this room for you to come in here and tear it apart. "

He started at her sudden entrance and spun around. The look in his eyes was wild, like a starved animal. "You!" he bore down on her, grabbing her upper arms in a vice-like grip. "You're close with the Knight-Captain! You must know where he's hiding it!"

She wrenched free of his grip and he proceeded to run his fingers through his greasy black hair. "Whatever you're after, I don't think the Knight-Captain is hiding anything," she said in response, trying to speak around the madness in his eyes.

"It's singing... all around... I need it," he whimpered, the heels of his hands going to his temples.

Finally, it dawned on her. Lyrium. Samson was looking for lyrium. It had barely been a couple of days since the Circle's stores had been ransacked, and already, Samson looked like he had been deprived for weeks. In his state, there was no way she was going to be able to talk him down. He paced back and forth a few strides at a time, muttering and cursing, his hands shaking uncontrollably. "Everything was lost during the Annulment," she explained softly. "Everyone is going without lyrium."

Her voice drew him back to her and he lunged for her again. This time, she stepped out of the way, but he was faster than she would have thought possible. He slammed into the shelf behind her and immediately whirled around, seething. Before he could grab a hold of her again, she threw up her hands, grateful that he seemed to not be lucid enough to remember he could do more to her than grab her. She quickly cast a sleep spell and the disgraced templar crumbled with the clatter of his armor in a heap. Philippa stood in the store room, momentarily stunned. How had Samson gone from the friendly templar that snuck love letters between mages to the violent, lyrium crazed addict laying in front of her?

Finally, she straightened her robes, slipped from the room and closed the door behind her. Racing back down to the Phylactery Chamber, she burst in on Cullen, making him whirl around with wide eyes, his hand on his sword hilt. "Don't smite me!" she said, holding her hands up in front of her. "I didn't mean to startle you, but there is a situation in the store room that needs your attention."

"Can't you ever just walk into a room without giving me a heart attack?" Cullen grumbled, releasing his hold on his sword and inhaling a breath that he sighed back out. "What's going on?"

"I think I may have found who ransacked the lyrium stash?" she said questioningly, uncertain if it had been Samson, initially, that had hoarded every vial they had, but he was certainly painting himself to be desperate enough to be trying to get more than his allotted share if given the chance.

Cullen's brow rose. "And where are they now?" he asked.

"Asleep in the store room. Come on, I'm not sure how long it will be before he's discovered," she said, urging Cullen to follow her. She was already halfway out the door.

He followed her to where she had left Samson in a heap. When she opened the store room, cautiously, Cullen took her by the arms and moved her out of his way so he could enter first. When his eyes fell on Samson, he sighed. "I thought as much."

"You said before you suspected someone. Was it Samson?" she asked, stepping in to stand beside him as he stared down with disgust curling his lip in spite of the flinch of pain it caused him.

"Ever since he returned, he has been showing signs of heightened addiction..." he glanced around at the store room and the mess that Samson had made. "Why Meredith agreed to allow him to take up the shield on your brother's suggestion is beyond me. He clearly was no longer fit to serve."

Philippa remembered Samson returning at the same time Carver had been kidnapped by Thrask's group. Perhaps he had been one of the conspirators. "Maybe it was one of those 'keep your enemies closer' types of situations. He was part of a group that was planning to overthrow her, after all."

Cullen confirmed her suspicions with a grunt. "Towards the end, I'm not certain Meredith was any more sane than Samson."

"What are we going to do with him?" Philippa wondered.

Cullen sighed heavily. "We'll take him to the dungeons. If the withdrawal doesn't kill him, I'll... figure out something more permanent. If you would stay with him, make sure he doesn't wake up, while I fetch someone to help carry him?"

"Of course," Philippa nodded her agreement.

After Samson had been secured in a dungeon to sleep it off, Philippa and Cullen returned to the Phylactery Chamber, their conversation a bit more subdued than previously. It only got worse as more and more of the Phylacteries turned out dark. Between the twenty five or so odd mages they already had at the Gallows, and the ones whose Phylacteries reacted with only a light glow which indicated they were miles away, only about 32 mages had escaped the Annulment with their lives.

As they stood in his office, having done the final count out of the cold of the chamber, Philippa's already tingly hands gripped the parchment where Cullen had scrawled the names of those lost, and they shook. She had known casualties had been high, but the numbers on the paper seemed to make it that much worse. Either the shuddering of the paper or her expression betrayed her, and Cullen tentatively laid a hand on her shoulder. "I know you didn't have many friends here, not like you did in Ferelden, but you cared. Probably more than the First Enchanter himself. I'm sorry."

She offered him a brief smile before sniffing and clearing the knot from her throat. "I suppose it's time for me to focus my caring on those that are still alive to benefit from it," she said, trying not to let her voice break. "I never thanked you, did I?" she asked, suddenly realizing her oversight.

"What for?" he asked, removing his hand and tipping his head, his hands settling casually on the hilt of his sword.

"You stood up to Meredith to defend my family," she pointed out. "Without you, I'm not certain the rest of the templars would have stood with Carver."

His mouth curved teasingly. "I didn't do it for you. It was the right thing to do."

"My apologies, oh humble Knight-Captain Ser. Far be it from me to force my gratitude on a person," she snarked back, setting the paper down on his desk.

He hummed a short chuckle. "Take the rest of the day off, and do try to stay out of trouble. Don't... wander the halls and happen across criminal templars."

She snorted. "I can't make any promises. It's not my fault I'm always in the right place at the wrong time." She backed from his office as he shooed her with an eyeroll.


	20. Rise and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise letter turns Philippa's fortunes, but will her new appointment last?

Nearly a week following the Annulment, Cullen received a pair of letters. One was from Starkhaven, promising a horde of templars and all the lyrium stores they could provide as quickly as possible. It was a good thing, too, because all of the templars were beginning to look ragged around the edges without the lyrium supply they were used to. There had been enough of the raw stuff hidden away that the tranquil were able to prepare a small amount to ration out to all of the templars, but it had been almost five days since they had run out completely. The second letter was from Orlais, the Divine's assessment of the situation, and orders to be followed.

Cullen called Philippa to his office shortly after receiving the letters. When she arrived, he had a small crate on his desk and he was taking things from shelves and putting them into it. "Going somewhere?" she asked.

His brow was pinched, like he had a headache, but his smile seemed genuine. "Just down the hall. I've had word from Orlais. It seems I was promoted."

Philippa smiled teasingly and bowed low. "Knight-Commander. Finally graced with the title that goes with all the work you've been doing for years."

He snorted. "Mock if you will, but..." he shuffled through a few papers in his desk and produced an official looking parchment. "Have a look at this."

She took the parchment from him and glanced over it.

_Acting Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford,_

_I received your reports on the situation in Kirkwall and I must say that I am in no way surprised by what happened. I have had my eye on your city for some time now. Firstly, allow me to commend you on your efforts in re-establishing order within the city after the tragedy that befell the Chantry. Grand Cleric Elthina was a dear friend and will be missed sorely. May she rest at the Maker's side. In light of those efforts, allow me to officially name you Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. May your reign be less hectic than your predecessor._

_Secondly, I would like to thank you for drawing my attention to the tragic fate of the mages of the Gallows. With the demise of the First Enchanter, your Circle is in need of an appointment. You mentioned a loyal mage that assisted in the final battle with Meredith and later sacrificed her own time and energy to helping you with sweeping the city and tending to the injured. That is the kind of self sacrifice and diligence that sets a mage above their peers. I hereby officially name Enchanter Philippa Hawke of the Kirkwall Circle it's new First Enchanter._

_Maker bless and keep you both, Most Holy Divine Justinia IV_

Philippa gaped, re-reading the letter, certain she had been imagining things. "This can't be right," she said finally, her heart beginning to race. "I'm a somniari. I can't be First Enchanter!"

Cullen's brow quirked. "The Divine is well aware of your abilities, believe me. She has simply seen exactly what I saw in the courtyard. I was out here when the First Enchanter first arrived back at the Gallows after the explosion. When you entered the fray, you were the only mage who did not immediately attack with deadly force, even though I am fully aware of your capabilities. Ser Carver described your time in the Vinmark Mountains in detail, even if he did not reveal precisely what happened. I believe he described your mana pool as 'seemingly endless'."

"It almost sounds like you recommended me for this position," Philippa said with a frown as she set the parchment back on the desk.

He shrugged. "I may have added a few personal opinions on the matter into my letter to the Divine." He suddenly looked away, his cheeks reddening. "I realize that my attitude toward you in the past has been... unfair. This past week has done nothing but solidify my realization that I judged you too harshly. You are capable of a lot more than anyone ever allows you. I... I believe it's time we changed that."

His hand was rubbing the back of his neck in his usual nervous tick. Finally, Philippa allowed her shock to settle, taking a deep breath. She crossed her arms to prevent her fingers from rubbing together and snorted in amusement. "Someone needs to find you some lyrium, Knight-Commander. You've completely lost your marbles."

His own amused laugh struck her as strange. She didn't think she had ever heard him truly laugh before. It was a reserved sound, slightly more genuine than the usual brief chuckle he allowed to escape. She decided she liked his laugh. "Anyhow," he said, dropping his wandering hand. "As soon as I received the notice, I sent a few tranquil to clear out Orsino's old quarters, and his office is now yours. Obviously there is no rush for you to move your personal belongings..."

"What about my duties?" she wondered. "I don't know the first thing about Orsino's day to day responsibilities."

"That will all come with time. Nobody expects you to jump in and be an expert your first day. However, I believe you are up to the task. In helping me over this last week, you've already assumed a few of the duties normally reserved for the First Enchanter." He picked up the crate, the wood clunking against his breastplate as he adjusted his grip before moving around his desk and walking past her. She followed him from his old office and down the hall to where Meredith's office was. He set the crate back down. "I'm right across the hall, of course, should you ever need my assistance, or you have a question." He paused and cleared his throat. "Or if you ever just wish to talk."

Philippa picked up a blank sheet of paper from the edge of the new desk and a quill from the inkwell. "First Enchanter's duties, day one... First and foremost, make sure the Knight-Commander isn't insane..." she scribbled as she talked. "Secondly, make sure you, too, are not insane..." She glanced up and smirked. "Well, it looks like we're one up on our predecessors."

"One of us is, at least," he said with a chuckle, beginning to unload his things.

"Knight-Commander," she gasped in mock horror. "Are you admitting to being insane?"

He snorted. "Get out of my office, Hawke."

"You can't just send me to my room like an apprentice anymore. I've got clout, Ser!" she joked as she set down her scribbled notes and backed from the room.

"I'm already regretting my recommendation. Perhaps I'll get a lock put on my door so you can't just barge in anymore," he retorted.

"I'm right across the hall. If you don't see me coming, I worry about your vision," she reminded him. "Perhaps instead of barging in, I can just yell from my desk."

"Maker forbid," he said with a roll of his eyes.

She crossed the hall, still smirking and entered what was to be her office. She hoped to glean some information from what Orsino had left behind. A ledger sat open near the top of his desk, listing all of the mages living in the Gallows, and small notes on their abilities and specializations. With a heavy sigh, Philippa knew that she was going to have to face that book sooner or later, and revise the final list of those remaining. In the meantime, she leafed through papers stacked up on his desk. There were some personal correspondences, requests for entry from other Circles, some that he had tagged, notes about Meredith, more notes on the movements of certain mages within the Gallows, and finally the bookkeeping. He had a ledger that tracked all of the funds going in and out of the Circle via the tranquil shops and the herbalist. He also tracked what the Circle spent for supplies to sew robes, metal wood and crystals to make staves, the mages' supply of lyrium, and deals he had going with local farms for crops and meat. She heaved a sigh. She had a lot to learn. She was suddenly grateful for all of the years she spent teaching herself by trial and error. She was good at winging it.

The next day, one of the clerics that had survived to start the small clinic in Lowtown, arrived with her own fancy letter from the Divine, giving her the authority to officially name Philippa and Cullen First Enchanter and Knight-Commander. The ceremony came with a new set of robes and a staff for Philippa, and a new sword and shield for Cullen.

Philippa had to admit that the robes were quite comfortable. They were not as heavy as the ones she had been wearing the last eight years, but they were made far more superior than her usual clothes. The base color was a deep red, and the silky fabric flowed around her so lightly that she barely felt like she was wearing anything at all. She could feel enchantments woven into the seams, for protection and a boost to her creation spells. The shoulders were bare, as her other robes had been, but there was no heavy leather to cover up her exposed flesh. The edges were trimmed in black and gold, and the belt that rode her hips was made of thin leather with a few pouches for her to keep whatever she wished. Thin, finger-less gloves in black, and a pair of comfortable boots completed the look

The staff was just as well made. If she didn't know better, she might have guessed that Cullen had a say in its design as he did her new title. The shaft was slender, fitting nicely in her palms and the grips spaced perfectly for her reach. On the head, the body of a dragon was wrapped around the crystal, hoarding it like it was treasure. It's wings swept upwards, the tips touching above it's head. The colors it was painted matched her robes, the base black and the trimmings red. After the ceremony was over and she had a moment to look over the rune-work etched into the wood in gold, she came across another engraving that told her Cullen had most definitely had a say in the design of her staff. In a swirling script trailing from the tip of the dragon's tail and down the shaft, a familiar phrase flickered in the light. _Best. Not Base_.

She could tell that the lack of proper lyrium was beginning to affect Cullen, his fingertips reaching for his forehead several times as the small gathering following the ceremony lingered on, the few mages and templars in attendance reaching for any excuse for levity. She started, realizing she had been watching him closely with a frown, when Carver approached her with his own pinched expression hidden behind a smile. "Congratulations, Sister. I think Father would have been proud to see you rising so high in spite of being forced into the Circle."

Her fingers trailed over the light engraving and she smiled. "Thank you, Carver. I didn't ask for this, but I'll be damned if I don't work to the best of my abilities to improve the lives of the mages here."

"Without Meredith, perhaps you'll actually succeed where Orsino failed," Carver agreed, patting her back lightly. "The new Knight-Commander is not exactly an advocate for mage rights, but I think he'll listen to you."

"Cullen isn't all that bad," she admitted. "He actually used to be sympathetic, to the point of harboring feelings for one of the mages back in Ferelden. But after the fall of the Circle, and whatever happened to him..." She sighed. "It has taken a long time to earn his trust back, in spite of having nothing to do with the coup." She shook her head and focused her attention on her younger brother. "How are you doing, Carver? Any ill effects from not having enough lyrium?"

He shrugged. "I haven't been taking it as long as some of the others, so it seems my symptoms aren't as severe. I have a bit of a migraine, but other than that, I think I'll survive for another few days until the Starkhaven knights arrive."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, her attention wandering again to Cullen as he fidgeted in his armor, scowling at anyone who approached him to talk. His stitches would need removing soon, she noted, as his scowl was made more menacing by the wound. He may have trusted her, but not enough to allow her to heal his lip. Baby steps.

Having been assured that Orsino's quarters, now her quarters, had been cleaned out and were ready for her to move in, Philippa decided that now was as good a time as any. Many of the party goers were avoiding her, still unsure what to make of her. She was going to have quite a bit of work to do if she was going to ingratiate herself with the rest of the mage population in the Gallows. When Carver was finished with her, she stood and slipped from the dining hall and headed for her old quarters. After gathering her meager personal belongings and the few books she kept in her room, Philippa started toward templar hall. Her quarters were beyond the garden, just before the barracks began to spread along the rest of the wing.

The room was more along the lines of what she was accustomed to in Kinloch. When she stepped in the door, the first viewing point was a large window that let in a beautiful amount of sun. The three panes of glass were shaped like one side of a hexagon, creating a small nook that was fashioned into a seat decorated in pillows. The afternoon sun was cascading in through the glass and shining along the floor toward where the four-post bed sat. Tiny particles shimmered in the air as she moved through the light toward the vanity to set down her belongings. The bed had long curtains mounted to the upper frame that could be drawn to block light. Among the other pieces of furniture in her new space, there was a bookshelf, a desk, a fireplace, and a squat nightstand. Like she was used to, a trunk sat at the foot of the bed where the tranquil had brought her a few spare changes of clothes and some nightdresses.

She placed her glass dragon on the left hand side of her vanity and caught a glimpse of herself in the new red robes. If it were even possible, Philippa believed that the red robe suited her even more so than the blue apprentice robes she had grown up in. Instead of blending with her eyes, the contrast in color made them pop, highlighting what Finn had called her best feature, and blended with the black of her short hair. Smiling at her reflection, she moved from the vanity and removed her staff from her back to set it by the door where a small hook extended from the wall to lean the shaft against. Then she put her books on the shelves, and carried Bethany's doll to the sitting window and nestled it among the pillows. She sat down on the cushioned seat, testing the comfort of the padding. She sunk deep into the cushion, leaning back into the pillows propped along the windowsill. The seat was ridiculously comfortable, and she could see herself spending a lot of time in the window reading. The view out the glass gave a stunning look at the ocean beyond, and one of the small gardens outside the Gallows.

"You left me to the wolves," Cullen's teasingly annoyed tone made her jerk back to the present as she had been staring out the window, wondering if she might be able to get a portable spyglass to go stargazing with once darkness fell.

She snorted. "A party full of people more interested in getting the ear of the new Knight-Commander than worrying about what little old me was up to? It looks like you slipped away without my help. Although, it may have been the silent threatening you were doing every time someone spoke to you."

"I don't do 'social gatherings'. I'd much prefer being done with it and moving on. There's work to be done," he grumbled, rolling his shoulders in his armor.

She frowned. Softening her voice, she noted his discomfort and said, "Are you holding up all right?"

"A few aches and pains. It will pass..." he said dismissively.

"And your head?" she asked, his brow furrowed even as he tried to pretend it was all right.

He grunted. "As you might expect. It helps to focus on something

She kicked out her feet and hopped from the window seat with a smile. "You don't happen to know anything about bookkeeping, do you? The last thing I actually purchased was sold on drastic discount because I was adorable."

He smirked. "Are you certain it's not because they wanted to shut you up?"

"I was seven, and much more timid than I am now," she responded, crossing her arms and cocking her hips.

"I find that hard to believe," he said, holding his hand out for her to lead the way.

They worked late into the night in Philippa's office, Cullen explaining a few of the details of Orsino's notes and adding his own estimates that would need to be spent on repairs. Eventually, the ledger at the top of Orsino's desk that she had been avoiding could no longer be avoided. It would take her days to properly mark down the dead and pen letters to their families, if they had any, but the update was necessary to get a proper account of supplies and food needed.

She tapped her fingertips on the book, her arm extended across the desk. She was just beginning to see an improvement in the nerve damage she had suffered from the red lyrium blade, and the taps of her fingers on the leather was not excruciating or uncomfortable, just mildly off-putting. She drew her hand back, rubbing her fingers on her palm, and then she sighed.

"It's late, Hawke. We've done all we can here, tonight. Why don't you start work on that in the morning. Go and get some rest," Cullen suggested, seemingly understanding how she might be feeling.

She glanced over at his sympathetic expression, the flickering mage light on her desk catching in his amber eyes. She cleared her throat, adjusting her seat and reaching upwards to stretch out her back and ignore the strange feeling in her gut as she looked upon him. "That's the best idea you've had all night, Knight-Commander." Then she snickered, the late hour catching up with her. "night, Knight..." she repeated.

Cullen sighed, rolled his eyes and closed the ledger with a thwap of sound. "Go to bed, First Enchanter."

Two days later, Philippa had made it nearly three quarters of the way through the ledger. The letters to the deceased mages' families were getting no easier to write as they piled up at the edge of her desk. She worked with her door open, the few glances up at Cullen as he worked across from her, oblivious to her attention, had a soothing effect on her somber mood. He got visitors from time to time. He would acknowledge them, give an order and they would leave. It was much the same for those two days, until a messenger came to his office. She glanced away from the exchange, not wanting to look like she was being nosy, but she listened as best she could while carefully writing deceased next to the name of a young mage of 22 named Milva. She drew a fresh parchment from the pile and dated the letter. Before she could trace Milva's name to her surname and remaining family members, a soft knock rapped on the open door. She glanced up to see Cullen.

His eyes were sunken, dark circles beneath them from either too much work, or not enough sleep. With the size of the bags, she was guessing it was a combination of the two. His hands were shaking today, she noticed, as he attempted to settle them on his sword hilt in his usual casual manner. She set her quill back in the inkwell and gave him her full attention, folding her own hands atop the desk. "Look at this... a pleasant distraction," she joked with a chuckle.

"I've just received word that the Starkhaven templars are entering the city and should be crossing on the ferry within the half hour. I thought it best we greet them as a united front, if you're up for the task," he said, licking his lips. She still needed to get on him about removing those stitches.

Flicking her eyes away from their distraction with his lips, she pushed her chair back from the desk. "Anything to get me out of this room." She followed him to the Gallows entrance and out into the Courtyard. It was a crisp autumn day, a few stray leaves clattering across the ground from the nearby trees in the gardens as they stepped out into the fresh air. Her robes fluttered against her legs in the breeze as she glanced around at the stalls. Nearly half were still empty as she meticulously reassigned duties in between heart-wrenching sympathy letters. Once she was finished with the ledger, she was going to need to figure out the new schedules for the remaining mages, and see if she couldn't convince any neighboring Circles to relinquish some talent to replenish her numbers. It was an unenviable task, and she was dreading it. She inhaled deeply of the chilled air. "Maker's breath, it feels like forever since I've been outside."

"You've been pouring over those books non-stop..." he pointed out, not offering his opinion, or a solution, just stating casually that he had noticed. Her stomach flipped lightly and her hands trembled. She crossed her arms over her chest, what in the Maker's name was wrong with her?

As his heavy eyes rolled over the courtyard, she caught herself looking at his scar again. "Those stitches need to come out," she said reaching up to tip his chin toward her to get a better look.

He flinched as her hand landed on him, and she pulled it away immediately. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't meant to..." he sighed. "Once we deal with the Starkhaven templars, you may do what you please with my mouth..." She snorted loudly and started to giggle. When he realized what he had said, his face flushed crimson and he glanced away from her. "Andraste preserve me, you know what I meant."

"Do, what I please... I'm making a note of that," she said still chuckling.

"Maker's breath," he sighed, his cheeks slowly returning to normal as he ran a hand through his thick curls. Just at the front of his hairline, a small lock sprung loose from the rest, falling over his brow. Philippa nearly reached up to tuck it away, but caught herself, turning away from him swiftly to hide the reddening of her own cheeks.

The sound of approaching templars from the docks provided the distraction she needed to breathe deeply of the crisp air and shake off the sudden state of flustered he had unintentionally put her in. They waited beside each other much like Meredith and her entourage had awaited their arrival from Ferelden, at the top of the stairs, backs straight.

The man leading the group of templars that boasted nearly thirty men, all carrying crates, approached them with a confident swagger. He was just under six feet tall, and his armor, like most templar armor, made his shoulders look much broader than they actually were. This brown hair was styled simply, pushed back off his face and tucked behind his ears. A light stubble marked his chin only slightly less predominately than the heavy tattooing on his chin and nose. A scar that resembled an upside down Y graced his right cheek beneath his sleepy ice blue eyes. He smiled, approaching Cullen first with his hand extended. "Greetings!" he said in an accent she had not heard since she had been in Ferelden before Kilian was transferred. "Knight-Captain Rylen, at your service." When he directed his gaze to her, she reached out her hand in greeting as well, but instead of shaking like he had Cullen's, he took it in his and lifted it to kiss her knuckles respectfully. "Ma'am." Cullen grunted, and she could not tell if it was annoyance of mockery, as his expression was blank. "Me and the lads got here as quick as we could."

"Welcome to Kirkwall," Cullen said holding his blank expression. "I'm Knight-Commander Cullen. This is our First Enchanter, Philippa Hawke. I hope the road was kind."

Rylen glanced between the two of them and the slight distance that had opened up between them after his suggestive slip of the tongue and her unintentional reaction. They had each taken a shuffling step to the side away from the other. He ignored the awkwardness and his smile returned. "As much as I'd love to gab about the trip, I'm certain you've got more than a few templars with the shakes. Point the lads in the direction you want them and we'll get to distributing."

Cullen's eyes had wandered beyond Rylen to the men carrying the crates behind him. When he said nothing, licking his lips again, Philippa cleared her throat. "I believe the dining hall would probably be the best place for you to set up. Don't you agree, Knight-Commander?" Without waiting for his response as he jerked and recovered his senses, she continued. "If you'll follow me, Captain Rylen, I'll show you the way. Knight-Commander, perhaps you could have a few tranquil gather the rest of the templars?"

Cullen cleared his throat as well, his amber eyes focusing on her instead of the crates. "Of course. Good idea."

Philippa shot him one final concerned glance before leading Rylen and the rest of the newcomers toward the dining hall. They swiftly set to work lining the tables along the wall and setting the crates atop them for quick distribution. While they set up, Philippa found some parchment and a quill to track the templars as they received the lyrium so none would get any more or less than the rest. She was drawing up a few columns on the paper when Rylen approached her. "Don't worry, Ma'am. Your Commander will be right as rain once the lyrium hits his system."

Philippa shook her head distractedly. "The Knight-Commander has been through much worse. I just know what stepping into a role that was previously filled by a crazy person feels like. Pile the withdrawal on top of that and it's bound to make the strongest person flinch."

"And how are you holding up? I understand you had a bit of a rough patch during the Annulment," Rylen asked her, genuine concern playing across his features.

She glanced at him, allowing her shock at his concern play across her face. "I'm on the mend. Nothing time won't cure. I appreciate you asking... I might return the favor. The journey from Starkhaven was long. I'm the healer around here, for the time being. Does anyone need attention?"

"No, I think we're all mostly knackered. It'll be good to sleep on a bed again," he said with a smile.

Soon, the templars started to filter in, and Philippa took names down as each templar was given a draught of lyrium. The process went quickly, and surprisingly without incident. Cullen was the last to accept his vial, making certain that everyone was taken care of before himself. She watched the tension leave his body as soon as the shimmering blue liquid touched his lips. When all was wrapped up, Cullen sent the rest of the new templars with Carver and Ruvena to show them to the dormitories. Rylen stayed with him and Philippa, making certain he had a complete understanding of the situation before Cullen offered to show him to his quarters. Rylen turned down the offer, saying he preferred to walk a place on his own and figure it out rather than be led to and from.

That left Philippa standing in the middle of the dining hall with Cullen as they watched the new Knight-Captain saunter off. She shrugged and turned to Cullen. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"It's almost embarrassing to say 'yes'," he admitted, returning her glance. "You never realize how much you depend on something until it's not there."

"Well, my stitch cutters are in the infirmary." She made a shooing gesture with her hands. "Off you go."

"Maker's breath, I'm not a child, Hawke," he grumbled even as he turned and started off toward the infirmary.

"No, but you're a patient, and you promised," she countered, following him as he went.

Cullen fidgeted as she took his chin in her hands and tipped his head into the light so she could see better. She tsked at the hurried stitches. "You could have prevented a lot of scarring here if you had just let me heal this with magic," she mused as she took up her suture scissors and steadied his head exactly where she needed it.

He sighed heavily. "It's not that I don't trust _you_ ," he said before she pressed her finger to his mouth to keep his lips still while she expertly snipped the catgut string that had been used. All three stitches came open easily, and she removed her finger so he could speak again. "I just... I'm still not completely comfortable with magic being used on me. She took up her tweezers and gingerly grabbed the end of the first stitch and tugged it free. A small trickle of blood followed it from his skin and she lightly touched a cloth to it to staunch the flow. "You understand..."

She drew her eyes away from what she was doing to meet his, noticing that he was already looking directly at her eyes. Blue met amber briefly before she flicked her gaze away to go back to her work before she got distracted again. He was doing that to her a lot lately. "I don't... but I would like to... If you're not comfortable with telling me everything, I understand, but, at least, perhaps anything that I might do that would cause a problem if I don't ask permission first."

He sighed and flinched as she pulled the second stitch free. "It's not that simple. It's not any specific thing. I endured a lot in my time in Uldred's care, as you might have guessed, and I can never tell what might trigger a bad memory until I'm in the moment." She tugged at the final stitch and set it aside before dabbing the last of the blood away. "The lyrium... It helps me forget some of what happened there. When I go without, sometimes, the memories return. After this last week, I'm not certain which is worse..." he stopped himself, and she realized her hand was still touching him.

She pulled the soiled cloth from his face and tipped his head again. The partially healed scar barely touched the line that separated his cheek from his upper mouth and curved downwards and over his upper lip. She bit back the urge to trace it with her fingertips, and took a step back from him, lifting her eyes back to his. "The point is, you've come a long way, Knight-Commander. I seem to remember a man willing to smite a mage for lighting a fire," she said with a smile.

His brow creased, and he continued to look up at her, still sitting in the chair she had parked him in. Slightly off topic, he asked, "Why do you never use my name?"

"Beg pardon?" she asked, starting to clean up.

"Ever since we came to Kirkwall, I don't think you've called me by my name," he pointed out.

She thought back to their interactions over the years, and shrugged. "You're not just some templar, anymore. With titles comes respect." Was she truly putting that restriction on herself? It was far from intentional, but her quickly thought up excuse made sense, so she went with it.

"Right... of course," he said with a nod, glancing away. She thought she caught a glimpse of reddening in his cheeks. "It was just an observation, First Enchanter."

She flinched as he called her by her title. Did he see her use of his title as her trying to distance herself from him? She didn't mean it that way. It was habit by now. Even he had pointed out that she had been doing it for years and he had never taken offense before. What had made him ask now? She was quiet for a moment, allowing him to drift into his thoughts as she picked up a jar of a poultice mixture to apply to his lip to stave off any potential infection. Inhaling a deep breath, she said softly, "I didn't nearly suffer the way you did in Kinloch, but I was there. If you ever feel the need to... He may be king, but even the lion sometimes needs his pride."

He glanced back up at her, his expression mildly shocked. "I... thank you. I'm just..." he sighed and looked away again. "I can't. I'm sorry."

She gingerly swiped the poultice on his scar and pulled away quickly. "Only you would be apologizing for not accepting help," she said with a shaky laugh. "Knight-Commander Rutherford. The Lonely Lion."

His chuckle joined hers. "And only you could make being a lion sound timid."

"Even lions start out as kittens..." She reminded him. She screwed the lid back on her jar and set it down with a tap on the table. "All finished."

"How bad is the scarring?" he asked, that one piece of rogue hair slipping free again to grace his forehead.

"Without magical intervention, you should bear a mark about an inch long from your lip to just below your cheek," she observed. "But I don't see any permanent muscle damage, so if you still have full functionality now, that shouldn't change. You should thank whoever stitched you up for having steady hands."

"I'll bear that in mind," he said, smirking slightly with the side of his mouth she had just been working on. The scar was somehow mesmerizing, tugging on the right side of his face as he stood from the chair. "And thank you... for today."

Normalcy was returning to Kirkwall where it felt like there never had been any to begin with. Under Cullen's rule, the templars were not so much a pack of bogeymen, but a well maintained force. Any discrepancy in behavior, and he acted swiftly, where Meredith had allowed bigots and bullies. Many of Meredith's pet templars were cast from the Order and replaced by Knight-Captain Rylen's men. Philippa managed to work beside Cullen and figure out the books so they could make up for the lost lyrium and resupply. With only the remaining mages and all of the templars Cullen had reassigned, their food consumption had dropped significantly.

When Philippa wasn't pouring over her desk and staring at ledgers, she took time to maintain the infirmary and to find a place for every mage and apprentice based on Orsino's notes on their abilities as well as brief interviews she conducted herself where their opinions were taken into account. Back in Kinloch, she had always had an extremely busy schedule. She preferred it that way. With Cullen's permission she took one day out of the week to leave the Gallows under templar supervision and re-open the clinic in Darktown that Anders had run for so many years. She had a strict policy when it came to the templars. They were in no way allowed to intervene, or listen in on any of the conversations she had with her patients. They were posted outside the doors in civilian clothes so they didn't look so menacing. Along with Varric, a Ferelden woman named Lirene who remembered Philippa from her days in the mage underground, was a great help in encouraging folks in need to go to the clinic if necessary. Having known Anders gave her a small amount of clout when she started out. Her discretion and bedside manner was what brought patients back and drew in new ones. She soon extended the hours to two days a week.

Life inside the Gallows was much less tense. Mages still had a curfew, but Philippa noticed and encouraged the newfound social atmosphere. The dining hall was no longer a quiet, and dull place. People actually talked among each other in a lighthearted cadence. She accepted some new faces from other Circles, and also had to learn the intricacies of creating a Phylactery when a handful of newly found apprentices were brought into the fold.

Not long after the Chantry's destruction, a meeting of the College of Magi, Grand Enchanter Fiona at the head, was called. Philippa received an invitation to attend in Cumberland as First Enchanter. After a lengthy discussion between her and Cullen, where he actually encouraged her to go, she ultimately decided to remain in Kirkwall while they were still rebuilding. The Circle needed it's First Enchanter.

She received word weeks later from Garrett, stating that he and Anders had been in attendance alongside Solona. The meeting had ended in chaos when the Lord Seeker had demanded order and one of the mages had attacked him. They managed to escape and were making their way back to Ferelden. Anders' actions, however devastating, had a domino effect across Thedas. Circles began to rise up everywhere, more and more of her fellow First Enchanters vocalizing their wishes to exist out from under the heel of the Chantry and templars. Soon, the backlash hit Kirkwall.

Philippa had been First Enchanter for nearly three years. In spite of her early reputation in Kirkwall, she was well liked among her people and the templars alike. She and Cullen worked well together, their ability to compromise and find a solution that was amenable to everyone, almost unheard of among most Circles and their leaders. Outside of the Gallows, however, the relationships between mage and templar were tense on a good day.

Garrett kept her informed of what he and Anders were up to usually on a monthly basis. He was slim on the details of where they were usually, but she understood his caution. Anders was probably the most wanted man in Thedas.

One day, Philippa received a letter from the Lord Seeker himself. As she read over the almost unbelievable letter, her attention was drawn from the task when Cullen strolled into her office and parked himself casually on the edge of her desk. "Did you get this, as well?" he asked distractedly. When she glanced up at him, his amber eyes were skimming across his own formal parchment with the seal of the Seekers melted into the wax.

She lifted her parchment and flapped it in the air between them. "Has everyone in the Chantry gone mad? What are we supposed to do with this?" she asked.

He sighed and looked up from his paper to meet her gaze. She had accepted the fact years ago that she could get all of the flutters in her stomach that she wished, but Cullen was never going to be anymore than just Cullen. She had first begun to realize what her problem was, when a demon had slipped through her defenses shaped like Cullen and offered her himself. It had been difficult to turn away. Even in the Fade, she had fantasized about what it might feel like to kiss that damned scar on his stupidly handsome mouth. More than once she had been distracted by his unruly curls. He had recently started to style his hair differently, using a mildly scented pomade to turn the tight curls into beautiful blonde waves, but no matter what, that one bit of hair always found a way to break free and grace his forehead, driving her mad with the urge to brush it back into place. In lieu of doing so, she brushed her own hair back and rested her forehead in her palms. "We shouldn't rush into a decision right away," he said in response to the frustrated set of her shoulders.

"You realize what this means, right?" she asked, looking up at him again before continuing. "If the Circles have truly been disbanded and the templars no longer work for the Chantry, your lyrium supply is going to dry up quick." He cringed slightly and she bullied forward. "Let's also not forget that not every Circle is as well adjusted as ours, as insane as that sounds. This is going to lead to war. When the mages start to leave their Circles because daddy said it's okay, mommy is going to bring the belt down hard. There will be mass annulment orders and a lot of thirsty templars. I can guarantee right now that nine out of ten First Enchanters read this letter and immediately called their mages together to set them free..."

"What was your first instinct, Hawke?" he asked simply.

"Believe it or not, I hate this. Do you know how many of our mages know nothing about the outside world?" she snorted self deprecatingly. "Myself included... Half of them wouldn't survive a week without the safety of the Circle. The other half would likely survive long enough to meet a rogue templar and get run through. And what of the tranquil?..." Her mind was now racing along with every scenario that she could imagine. It made her feel ill, and she stood, beginning to pace.

"And this is why you're First Enchanter here," Cullen pointed out. "And why I said we shouldn't make any rash decisions. We can use your contacts in the Underground to help find a place for our mages, the children especially. If any of them choose to stay behind, we won't abandon them."

"What are you going to tell the templars?" she asked pausing her pacing to look over at him. He was surprisingly unaffected by the news, making her frown.

"Believe it or not, Rylen and I have seen this coming for some time now. In spite of evidence to the contrary, the man is surprisingly perceptive. I've been preparing the templars here in the event this day came," he explained.

Her frown deepened. "So... what? You came over here just so see my reaction? We've worked side by side these last three years and you just decided to leave me out of your contingency?" Heat rose to her cheeks as she got angry, her fists balling.

"I was confident you would do the right thing, Hawke, and I didn't leave you out. I came to offer suggestions from someone who has been strategically planning for this," he said, his own expression shifting to a frown. "I'd like your opinion on my ideas."

Her reaction had been pure emotion, and she flushed again, this time in embarrassment. She liked to think she had gotten to know Cullen in their time in Kirkwall, and she should have known he was not being malicious. "I... I'm sorry. This is just... a shock." She straightened her robes and moved behind her chair to lean on the back of it, biting her lip in thought. "Do you know how many templars are willing to stay behind and help in case we can't place all of the mages, or some don't wish to leave?"

Cullen cringed again. "Without the promise of pay and steady lyrium, I fear the answer is very few. Some, those who became templars because they believed in the Order, will likely stay on longer than others."

She sighed heavily, dropping her head so her bangs fell down to dangle over her face. Then she pulled back, straightening and drumming on the back of the chair. He watched her every move with the same intensity he always did. "Okay. I'll need to speak with Lirene and Varric. Perhaps they have contacts that will be able to help with finding homes for the children that have no families to return to, or the ones whose families abandoned them. I will also need to gather all of the mages for a meeting and set up a volunteer system. If they are confident in their own ability to make it in the world, they are... free to go, I suppose." She frowned and cursed. "Maker's breath, what about the children who still need training? How could the Seekers just dissolve the Circles without contingency plans?"

"If I might offer a suggestion?" he asked gingerly, as if her agitated state was something to be concerned over. When she nodded, he continued. "Have your meeting with the mages first. See how many of them want to stay on. If there are enough, broach the subject of keeping the children here as well, under our care so they might continue their education. It will still be beneficial, but they won't have templars breathing down their necks."

She frowned. "You don't think the Chantry will get a wad in their knickers if you allow that to happen?" she asked.

Cullen's signature smirk lifted up the right side of his mouth and he said sardonically. "With all due respect, the Chantry doesn't pay me anymore..."

Philippa allowed herself to chuckle, attempting to relax her shoulders and the knot in her stomach. "The lion shows his true colors... What do we do if the mages react less than ideally?"

He pursed his lips. "We have no control over their reaction anymore. If they wish to leave, we can't stop them. The best we can do is pray they see reason. Perhaps remind them that not all templars they meet will be as forgiving as those here."

Philippa spent a good two hours preparing herself to call the mages together. After she felt as prepared as she could get, she called the meeting, setting it out in the chill of the courtyard in the late autumn air. She was hoping that the brisk temperatures might help to deter a lot of the mages from running off as soon as they had the news. She donned her own cloak, the black fabric covering up her red robes and making her look more like the rest of them. She wanted to appeal to them, not feel as if she were bullying them. Once everyone was gathered, and no templars were in the vicinity, courtesy of Cullen, Hawke raised her arms for quiet. "My fellow mages... This morning, I received a letter from the leader of the Seekers of Truth. What was contained inside it concerns every mage in Southern Thedas... But I'm not worried about every mage in Southern Thedas. My concern lies within the walls of the Gallows and those who reside here. Many of you, like myself, came to the Circle when you were just children. Others of you are _still_ children. When I explain the contents of this letter, I implore you to think long and hard before you make a decision. Please, take a lesson from my experience, and do your best to think of not only yourselves, but of those around you that may have become like family. I have no right to make your decisions for you, however, and I leave it completely in your hands.

"As you might have noticed, I called you all outdoors on this chilly afternoon. Take a look around and heed the fact that there is not a single templar in sight. This brings us to the letter. Both Knight-Commander Cullen and I received this letter and have chosen, together, to not view the words within as direct orders. It states very clearly that as of three days ago, the Lord Seeker has dissolved all of the Circles across the continent." Murmuring began among the mages assembled, and she cleared her throat to indicate she was not finished. The whispers ceased and she continued. "With this letter, you have all been freed. It is my duty as First Enchanter to concern myself with the well-being of every mage in the Gallows. I am in no way telling you to leave the Circle or that you are no longer welcome. I am well aware that, like myself, many of you have no home to go to. Both myself and Knight-Commander Cullen are working on solutions that will help everyone. Men and women, young and old... To leave is your choice, but do not make it rashly. Keep in mind that outside of Kirkwall, there are other templars that, unlike those here, will not be as open to the idea of mages being free of the Circle. Should you choose to leave, you will not be stopped. The ferry is open, and the city guard and residents have been informed of the situation. Your Phylacteries have been set up by the docks for you to take with you as you leave. The Chantry cannot hound you any longer." She stepped to the side and held out her arm in invitation.

Surprisingly, only about a half dozen of the mages present broke off and headed directly for the docks. The rest of them continued to watch as their peers boldly got onto the ferry and were not assaulted in the undertaking. This caused them all to glance around at each other in indecision. When the murmuring ceased again, Philippa drew attention back to herself. "I know these are confusing times, and it is imperative that we lean on each other for support. If you are uncertain if you wish to leave, take some time and think it over, discuss it among yourselves. No matter the outcome, personally, I will be staying on to aid those who need it. As for the children, I have personally contacted each of your families and am awaiting responses. I will be offering classes for those who wish to attend if you still feel that controlling your abilities is an impossible task. That is what the Circle is here for. To understand and nurture your magic. I'll not be sending anyone away that is not confident they wish to go. This is your freedom and your choice."

With her speech finished, she smiled confidently and headed back toward the Gallows entrance, her outward appearance much more calm than her insides which were a jumbled mess of nausea and concern. She had never asked to be First Enchanter, and now everyone was looking to her for the right thing to do. She shuffled back to her office, unhooking her cloak and draping it over her arm. Time would tell how many more she lost.

Nearly a week later, she had mages trickling out each day after making preparations for themselves. She kept true to her word, helping as many of the children as she could to harness their powers before their families came to get them. She made it clear that if there were any questions or if anyone needed help, she would remain in the Gallows. It was looking like she was going to be the only one left at this rate. The tranquil had been reassigned around the city, only a select few remaining in the Gallows to continue preparing the lyrium as their stores slowly dwindled. Cullen was working tirelessly to find a legitimate means to continue supplying it to their remaining templars, but it wasn't looking promising. Something had changed in the Knight-Commander, but with as busy as they both were, she couldn't quite put her finger on what it might be.

When Cullen knocked on her open door, then let himself in, she glanced up momentarily to grace him with a smile before returning to the ledger open in front of her. "When did you say Rylen and his men were taking their leave? I'm trying to make certain the Gallows will have enough coin to see us through the month." He didn't respond right away and she glanced up again. He was waiting patiently for her attention with a slight grin lifting his scar. She chuckled to herself. "Sorry. My mind is in a million places right now." She slipped the book further up her desk and folded her hands. "You have my undivided attention."

" _Undivided_ attention? Is there some sort of honor in that? I'm fairly certain your attention is rarely undivided," he teased as he approached her desk. There was something in his hand, but he cleverly hid it beneath his other, resting them both casually on his sword hilt.

"Nevermind my attention. You're up to something, Knight-Commander. I can smell it," she returned, letting him know she had seen the shimmering object in his fist.

He rolled his eyes and unfolded his hands. "I received this package today from Orlais, and I thought you might want this back." He loosened his grip on the object and it tumbled from his palm to dangle from a thin silverite chain. "It was one of the few that weren't lost when the White Spire's Chamber was destroyed."

She gasped and stood, reaching to take the vial between her fingers. "Of course mine would survive," she chuckled as the phylactery hummed to life when she touched it.

He pushed his hand further toward her. "It's yours, Hawke. You should have it, like the others, to do what you wish with it."

She bit her lip, staring at the object, but never fully taking it in her hand. Finally, she looked up at him and took his hand in hers, turning it over so his palm faced upwards. Then she picked up the tiny hourglass and placed it in his palm. Closing his fingers over it, she said, "I want you to have it. Maker knows what the future will bring, and I'd prefer someone I trust held onto it." Before she pulled her hands away from his, she noticed the slight tremble in his fingers. She assumed it was just nerves. She knew he wasn't usually comfortable with physical contact. She stepped back and smiled. "I appreciate you bringing it to me."

"I..." he paused, cleared his throat and stuttered. "Uh... Thank you... I'm... I appreciate your trust... But you could just be rid of it. Destroy it if you wanted."

She shrugged. "Like I said, we don't know what the future holds. It might be useful."

He sighed and took the phylactery back, looping the chain around his neck and tucking it under his gambeson. "I'll keep it safe."

"Thank you," she said with another smile, returning to her desk and her paperwork.

It wasn't long before her prediction became reality. The rest of the mages left, Cullen could no longer support the increasing lyrium needs of the remaining templars and they were forced to leave as well and seek more unsavory means of buying their lyrium. Carver was one of the last to leave, but fortunately, he had somewhere to go. Garrett wrote them both letters, temporarily signing over the family estate in Hightown, to them. Since Philippa had begun holding hours in the clinic in Darktown, sans a templar escort, she had drawn a crowd well enough off that she was able to begin charging for her services to those who could afford it. She was so good at her job that the nobility paid her to help cure what ailed them.

Her final days in the Gallows were spent trying to help Cullen to find places for the remaining tranquil, hiring on a few herself to help in the clinic with making potions and maintaining the enchantments Anders had put in place. It was a bittersweet time. She had known nothing other than the Circle since she was a girl. She had lived, loved, learned, and fought confined within the walls of one Circle or another for 28 years. She prayed that her wits would be enough to help her survive.

It was a Wednesday afternoon when she packed up her things, a few books included from the library that would likely rot in the empty Gallows, and hefted her pack onto her shoulder. As she glanced around her quarters for the final time, a soft knock sounded on the door that she had left open. She turned to see Cullen standing sheepishly in the doorway. She smiled, knowing that the expression never reached her eyes, and shrugged. "I suppose this is it," she said with forced levity.

"I suppose so. I was hoping to catch you before you left..." he said.

She snorted. "Like I would leave without saying goodbye to my favorite Knight-Commander." With his eyeroll, her grin faded. "Where will _you_ go?"

"I... have some prospects..." he said evasively. "I wanted to warn you before you leave, Hawke. There is a group of Seekers that have arrived in the city. I'm uncertain what they are after, but I think it's best you're careful if they come calling. Just... don't be yourself, all right?"

"Knight-Commander, keep talking like that and I might get the impression you don't like me," she teased.

"I've adapted. Whereas a group of Seekers might not be as forgiving as I am. Be cautious, and keep Carver close. That's all I ask," he said gently. It wasn't an order, but a request.

"Since you asked me so nicely..." she said teasingly. "I promise I won't snark the Seekers." She paused and watched him run his hand through his hair and then shift it to the back of his neck and shuffle his feet. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself, too," she said in a more serious tone.

He hummed lightly. "As you wish, Hawke."

She moved toward the doorway where he stood and impulsively reached up and touched his face. Amazingly, he didn't shy away. She lifted onto her toes and lightly kissed his cheek. "Goodbye, Knight-Commander." His cheek was cold beneath her lips and when she pulled away, he turned his head to glance at her with a mildly shocked frown, his face flushing crimson.

"Goo... Goodbye, Hawke. May the Maker watch over you," he said with a practiced tone.

Before she made any more rash decisions, she turned and left, walking through the Gallows halls for the last time.


	21. A Bright New Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa adjusts to civilian life as best she can until an unexpected letter comes her way.

It was going on fall in Kirkwall. Philippa had been living in the Hawke estate for nearly three months alongside Carver. He had started out in a rough state, but Philippa had enlisted both Lirene and Varric's help in securing a private seller who would provide them with lyrium for a reasonable price under threat of Varric pulling their most profitable account out from under them. It certainly helped to have a businessman for a friend.

It didn't take long for the Seekers that Cullen had warned her about to come sniffing around. The group was led by two women. One was a curt Nevarran with sharp facial features, brown eyes, and a scar that dug deep along her left cheek. Her black hair was short, much shorter than even Philippa kept hers, and braided around her crown. The second woman was much more soft spoken, her accent Orlesian. She had red hair judging by the wisps of it visible from beneath the hood she wore that shaded her features. Her soft blue eyes spoke nothing of her personality, but Philippa could tell the deception was intentional. You would learn nothing of her if she didn't want you to. Where the Nevarran woman wore her impressive sword and shield brazenly on the outside of her clothes, the cloak the Orlesian wore covered whatever weapons she might be hiding on her person. Philippa played the fool when they asked what she knew about Garrett's whereabouts, although, she really had not much clue. She could have found him if she wished, like she had found Bethany so many times, but whatever these women wanted from him, she was not going to reveal more than she had to. When Carver had brazenly stepped between them, his sword on his back and his arms crossed, they had left without much more fuss.

It wasn't a week later that Philippa received a letter that she had not been expecting at all. It was addressed 'Former First Enchanter of Kirkwall, Philippa Hawke.' When she turned the envelope over, the seal was that of the Divine herself. She broke the wax, wondering what exactly the Divine wanted with her.

_First Enchanter Hawke,_

_While I am aware that most of the mages of Southern Thedas have been blown on the wind like the seeds of a dandelion puff, I was pleased to see that you had not strayed far from what you believe to be right. The dispersal of the mages in Kirkwall was the most organized and least violent across the nations. I hear your clinic is flourishing and you are still using your magic to serve man, as it should be._

_Let me get to the point. The recent events across the continent have made me realize that I must step in to try and stop this war and make peace between the mages and templars. It is the people of Thedas suffering in the wake of this chaos, and I simply can't have it. I have arranged for a conclave between the leaders of each group. The conclave will take place on 23 rd Harvestmere in the sacred resting place of Andraste herself. The Temple of Sacred Ashes will stand as neutral ground where representatives from both sides will be free to meet without fear of hostility. I am writing this letter in hopes that you would consider lending your voice to the side of reason._

_May the Maker bless and keep you, Most Holy Divine Justinia IV_

"Do you think you're going to go?" Carver asked her after she had allowed him to read over the letter as well.

"I feel like it's the right thing to do, don't you? We could help stop this insanity before more people get hurt," she said.

" 'We'?, sister? This letter doesn't mention me at all," Carver said with a mild bitter tone that she had learned was just the tone he took whenever he felt left out.

"You were a templar, Carver. Your opinion matters just as much as mine," she pointed out with a small pout.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'll accompany you to Haven, but I'm not climbing some bloody mountain to listen to 'important people' talk about the same horseshit we've been living for the last ten years."

Philippa had been wearing Garrett's old clothes around the estate, and she glanced down at her shabby appearance. Knowing it was not wise to travel in her old robes with the state of things, she resigned herself to going shopping.

Garrett's elven servant, who had been left to care for the mansion while he was gone, agreed to stay on once Carver and Philippa had moved in. Orana was extremely helpful when it came to picking clothes for Philippa and Carver, even though the task seemed impossible for herself. She almost always wore the same old dress in spite of Philippa insisting she get herself something nice on her silvers. She led them around the shops, Helping them both pick out clothes that were suitable for traveling as well as fancy enough to be worn to something that you had been invited to by the Divine herself. Carver ended up with a pair of brown hide trousers and a simple padded vest. He insisted on the bare arms, much like she remembered he had worn the first time she had met him. He covered his forearms with leather wrist-guards. Her outfit was a bit less showy. She got a pair of black hide breeches that hugged her body almost like she was wearing leggings. Over the bottom of the pants, she wore long matching leather boots that the stall owner had insisted were the best for climbing uneven terrain. She was going into the mountains after all. The shirt had wide sleeves that puffed out around her arms only to be cinched every few inches by leather straps that were sewn into the fabric. The shirt was red, much like her robes had been, and the vest that went over it was black. She also got a travel bag, a belt with several pouches, and a harness for her staff.

Satisfied that they were going to look as normal as possible, they headed back to the estate to pack supplies while Orana made arrangements for them to cross the Waking Sea by boat.

It felt odd to be leaving Kirkwall. Almost as odd as it felt to be returning to Ferelden. On the three day long crossing to Amaranthine, Philippa did her best to blend in with the rest of the crew and passengers, keeping her staff out of sight until they were docked in the city. "You know, Beth is stationed somewhere just outside the city," Carver pointed out as he hitched his pack further onto his shoulder when they paused on the docks, trying to get their bearings.

"With everything that's going on, I would imagine she is probably out of the Keep," Philippa pointed out.

Carver sighed. "You're probably right. Let's stock up on rations. It's a long road to Haven."

Carver wasn't wrong. Without holdups, they would likely be walking for a month or more. Philippa was relying on Carver's ability to read a map, and plot them a course. She knew some geography, but she had never done any real traveling on her own. All she knew was that Haven was south east of their current location, but she had no idea what roads to travel or which direction was which once she was out of sight of the ocean.

Carver had them traveling across country for a good part of the trip, keeping off roads and highways to maintain some anonymity. Even with his caution, they still ran across the occasional bandit or roving groups of mages or templars. Just as they had predicted, neither of the groups were particularly friendly no matter how you introduced yourselves. Mages were friendly at first until they spotted Carver's sword and the vials of lyrium he carried on his belt. Templars attacked Philippa on sight, feeding the necessity for Carver to step in a few times and cut them down when the smite came from a hidden foe. If not for her brother, she would have been dead likely several times over. All of what was happening made her concerned for those of her friends and family that were mages. How were Anders and Garrett faring on their own? Were Bethany and Solona all right? Had Finn and Ariane been smart enough to lay low after the Circles fell apart? Then there were those whom she hadn't seen in years. Neria, Kilian and Faye, even Wynne. As she thought about her friends having to leave their Circles and find their way, it terrified her that she might find out that they had been killed. It wasn't unlikely with all of the chaos all around.

It took them thirty-six days to reach Haven on foot. Philippa was thankful for the sturdy boots she had purchased, and the fact that she was not wearing robes that would hinder her movements. It had been surprisingly easy to adjust to breeches after wearing robes for as much of her life as she could remember.

Haven was inundated with all sorts of people, stocking up for the trek up the mountain to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They received a few sideways glances from some templars, but it seemed that the Divine had strictly made Haven a violence free safe zone. Philippa once more tried to convince Carver to make the climb with her, but he was adamant that he was simply there to be her body guard along the road. Now that they were at Haven, he was going to relax while she took care of business.

She left her pack with Carver, keeping only her staff and a few potions and rations in her belt pouches. She lifted the hood on her cloak and left the city, following a few other mages and templars that were heading up the mountain. It was one day until the conclave, and Philippa was excited to get there early to get a read on the atmosphere of the situation and possibly catch a glimpse of the Divine herself. She was also quite curious to explore the Temple. She had read that during the Blight, Solona had discovered a cult in the mountains that had worshiped a High Dragon they believed was the reincarnation of the prophet Andraste. If there was anything left of the dragon's nest or even relics the cult may have left behind, she wanted to get a look. It was sometimes hard to remember that she was free to roam about, and she had never taken the time to do any dreaming while she and Carver were on the road, because she simply forgot that she was in uncharted territory. The dreams in the Circles had become dull and stagnate over the years. Without another's mind to play off like she had in Kinloch with Finn, all she had were her own dreams. Here, there were so many places and ruins that would hold memories for her to learn from, even if those memories were skewed by perception.

The mountain path quickly grew frigid. She had forgotten just how cold Ferelden winters could be, and they weren't even fully greeting winter yet. At the end of Harvestmere in Kirkwall, they would probably have another month before they started to see snow. Here in Ferelden, the mountains had already seen some powder, and the frigid air threatened to freeze her to the bone. She tugged her cloak more tightly around herself and pushed forward, her un-gloved hand clutching her staff as a walking stick to maintain her balance on the slippery terrain.

There was a smattering of both mages and templars around her as they all made the trek together, but not a soul was speaking. It was a long and boring climb. She wished once more that Carver had elected to come with her so she would at least have someone to speak with, even if his company was less than ideal. He was not the templar that she would have preferred to be making the trip to Ferelden with. Her mind wandered to Cullen. How was he faring in Kirkwall? She had heard nothing from him after she left the Gallows. It had been months. She allowed a sigh to escape her lungs, the heat of her breath rising in a plume before her face.

When she finally reached the summit where the entrance to the Temple stood, she paused to gape at the impressive structure. She remembered being similarly impressed by the Circle tower on Lake Calenhad when she had first arrived as a child. Tall spires stood around a central building made of stone. Statues of Andraste lined the path standing several stories tall. Philippa was humbled. She had not been raised Andrastian, the Circle not particularly catering to religion if you weren't already an avid believer. She somewhat believed, but she had always found the stories of Andraste and the Maker hollow. The had always felt like propaganda. Her boots sank in the snow at her feet as she stood still for a moment and took in the grandeur of the final resting place of Andraste herself. Several templars and some mages stopped at the summit as she had, and took a knee, uttering short prayers before continuing on into the Temple.

Philippa followed behind, entering on the heels of a group of templars. Inside the grand entry hall, whose ceiling stood dozens of stories tall supported by pillars that disappeared into the darkness above, Philippa stepped off to the side, out of sight and out of the way. She wanted an honest read of the atmosphere before she went any further. To get that, no one could know she was listening. Groups were congregated around the room between 3 and 10 large, segregated between mages and templars. Not a single group was mixed. Unlike herself, many of the mages looked like they had been on the run for the last several months, still wearing tattered and worn robes. Again, her thoughts went to her friends and family. She did not see anyone she knew among the mages or templars in attendance. The tension in the room was high as all of the groups discussed the ongoing war, or simply glared across the room at an opposing group. Philippa quietly made her way toward the rear of the room where she saw a dais atop which stood an ornate throne flanked by a pair of templars and occupied by an elderly woman. She had a kind face and sparkling eyes that Philippa could tell would be as empty as the red-headed Orlesian Seeker's had been if she set them on you. She wore pristine white robes with a thick band of gold embroidered red that flowed down her entire front. Her hat stood like a beacon a good foot off her head, similarly colored with a veil down the back that covered her neck and shoulders. She looked upon the room with a disappointed and calculating expression. She had to be the Divine. Even though Philippa had never seen her in person before, there was no mistaking the leader of the Chantry.

If there was anything Philippa had learned about being a Somniari, it was that she never failed to remember her dreams. She could recall them as vividly as she could recall memories. Her eyes flew open and she shot up into a sitting position with a gasp. Her hands went instinctively to her forehead and then the heels dug into her eye-sockets. Flashes of white hot pain shot across her vision and she cried out in agony. She had no time to react or adjust before hands were on her. They dragged her from where she sat, making her vision swim as she was forced to open her eyes and see where she was going. The swift movement of being dragged sent a fresh stab of pain through her temples. Before she knew what was happening, she was shoved onto her knees. The cold stone floor, beneath her as she fell, rattled her brain some more and bruised her kneecaps. In her attempts to catch herself, her arms gave out from under her, her left in particular tingling and numb. Someone grabbed hold of her collar and yanked her back onto her knees so she was kneeling. She closed her eyes against a wave of nausea brought on by the rapidly increasing throbbing that was happening inside her skull. Cold metal was secured around her wrists and the chain attached to the manacles clattered so loudly, she thought she might go deaf. She tried to lift her arms to press her hands to her ears and block out the cacophony, but the manacles were attached to an eighteen inch flat iron bar the held her arms apart.

When her attention fell on the manacles, she shoved down the blatant pulsing of her heartbeat behind her eyes and stared in awe and confusion at her left hand. Across her palm, from one side to the other, tracing the crease in her skin, a gash nearly an half an inch wide tore along the flesh. There was no blood, and no pain that would indicate that her skin was open, but with her very eyes she was looking at the wound. It was flickering with an eerie green burst of light, pulsing out of time in uneven increments. The sensation had her gritting her teeth as her fingers twitched around her palm. She lifted her limb, ignoring the group of men that had chained her as they drew swords and stood in a protective circle around her as if she were a danger. The pain in her head became a background concern as the gash in her palm became the center of her focus. As she stared at it, suddenly, it flared to life, the flickering light exploding in a burst that shocked up her arm and into her jaw. She cried out, turning her eyes from the bright light as it nearly drew tears to her sensitive pupils.

Within minutes, the door across the room swung open, slamming against the wall and letting in a splash of light. It was in no way the light of sunshine, and Philippa frowned as the reality of what was happening began to come into focus around her. She had been so distracted by her throbbing head and the curiosity on her hand that she had disregarded the fact that she was apparently a prisoner of some sort. From the bright and noisy doorway, two new people entered the room and the men with swords on her sheathed them. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. On three sides, she was surrounded by cells, making this a dungeon of some kind. The lack of sunlight put her underground. Her arms were chained to the floor by thick iron rings bolted into the stone. A few torches burned in mounts on the walls, lighting the damp room dimly.

The dim light was enough for her to make out the pair of figures that had entered. They were both familiar. The pair of Seekers that had questioned her in Kirkwall. The Nevarran, Cassandra Pentaghast she recalled, had swapped out her Seeker's armor for a simple pair of purple hide pants, tall black boots, a hide shirt and a fitted cuirass that was draped with a heraldry that Philippa didn't recognize (not that she was an expert). She still carried the sword and shield strapped to her person, and her expression was as stoic and unforgiving as Philippa remembered. The Orlesian, Leliana, had completely changed her look as well. Her Seeker's uniform and cloak had been replaced by hide pants completely hidden by her tall boots and spiked greaves, and the tails of her chainmail shirt that dangled in four pieces around her thighs. Her hands and arms were covered in brown gloves that matched the color of her pants, and she had leather pauldrons set directly into the chain shirt. Atop everything she wore a purple hooded cowl that was secured in the front with a pin in the shape of the same symbol that Cassandra had across her chest.

They entered the room together and Philippa dropped her hand to her knee, glancing between the two of them with narrowed eyes. They separated to circle her, raising her tension level to uncomfortable. What Cassandra said next, nudged it over the edge into downright concerned. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?" Without giving her a chance to respond, she continued. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for _you._ "

Philippa felt her eyes widen in shock as her heart lurched. Her fist closed around the strange mark on her palm briefly as finally, her brain began to respond through the pounding headache she had. "What do you mean everyone's dead?" she managed to squeak around a dry throat. She began to panic, her breathing coming more rapidly as she realized that she couldn't remember a thing after she had entered the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Her mind was drawing a blank.

Without answering her question, Cassandra leaned over, grabbed up her forearm and showed her the mark on her own hand. "Explain _this_!" she demanded through gritted teeth before shoving the arm back down again.

"I... I can't," she blurted, her own lack of memory more disturbing than the fact that the mark was there. She had never had a gap in her memory. It was unsettling.

"What do you mean you 'can't'?" the Seeker grunted in disbelief as Leliana began to circle her as well.

Philippa swiveled her head back and forth, trying to watch them both as they menaced her, her heart racing even faster. "I bloody well don't know what that is... or where in the Void it came from," she said in a panicked tone. Phillippa had never allowed herself to seem less than confident, but the fear of her situation had wiped away her usual swagger.

"You're lying!" Cassandra raged, leaning down to grab hold of the front of Philippa's clothing and shake her. The jostling made her groan as it rattled her aching head.

Leliana intervened immediately, pulling the Seeker off her and walking her back a few paces. "We need her, Cassandra."

As the two women had a silent argument, Philippa looked down at the palm of her hand again and reflected on the information she had just been hit with. "All those people... dead?"

Leliana looked away from Cassandra and approached her with a sway in her hips. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Philippa closed her eyes and wracked her brain as it pounded uncomfortably. Her brow creased as flickers of memory pulsed and receded like a slowly dwindling dream. There were only a few things she could scarcely recall. "I remember running. Things were chasing me, and then... a woman?" That was the thing that she was most curious about. Who had been with her. All she could remember was a flash of a face, but not who the face had belonged to.

"A woman?" Leliana asked with a curious tone, crossing her arms.

"She reached out to me, but then..." Philippa sighed and closed her eyes again, shifting to press her fingertips to her forehead. Trying to recall was giving her a bigger headache on top of all her other aches.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift," Cassandra said in a much gentler tone than the one she had been using with Philippa. Leliana gave one last interested glance in Philippa's direction before nodding.

Cassandra knelt before her and began to unlock her restraints, only to re-tie her hands together immediately. "What _did_ happen?" Philippa asked her, hoping that cooperation might get her some answers.

Cassandra set an almost sympathetic look on her as she secured the ropes around her hands and helped her to her feet. "It... will be easier to show you."

Philippa followed the woman through the dungeon and into the adjoining hallway. It was lit by hanging bowl chandeliers in intervals along the way. To the sides as they walked, Philippa noticed locked cells filled with stacks of books, scrolls and parchments. The light was confined to the hallway to protect the small libraries from fire. Philippa frowned, wondering where they might be. How long was the gap in her memory? How had she gotten from the Temple to where she was, or were they still in a forgotten hole in the Temple?

They took a left turn at the end of the hall and followed a tall flight of stairs from the dungeons. The setting was nothing like she had expected. It looked like they had been in the basement of a Chantry that belonged to a small village. Light blazed from torches mounted on pillars that lined the area where pews had once stood. They had since been moved out of the way and stacked in rows behind the pillars in the alcoves on either side of the runner of red carpet that spanned the length of the hall, all of the way to a narrower section in the rear that had several rooms carved in a U shape. Whatever warmth the Chantry might have held in the past was lost to the dark corners and dismal expressions of it's guardians. Cassandra led her to the tall, heavy wooden doors of the exit. Two of the men guarding the doors saluted with their fists over their chests, and then pushed the doors open. Cassandra stepped out into the glare of the sun, Philippa following slowly on her heels and shielding her eyes from the harsh light. She nearly collided with the Seeker as she stopped just outside the doors. Philippa's gaze followed hers, and she blinked rapidly, several times to be certain she was actually seeing what she was seeing.

The day was overcast, but she recognized the village as Haven. She took in the light snowfall happening around them and the muddy state of the gravel streets of the village before her eyes were drawn upwards. High in the sky, a vortex of clouds was causing the dimness of the sun. The outskirts of the vortex looked to be regular gray storm clouds that faded to lighter fluffier clouds towards the center of the swirl. Lightning crackled among the clouds, but it was no normal lightning. The flashes were the same color as the magical green mark on her palm. The center of the vortex was also the sickly bright green color. Large rocks defied gravity, floating near the top of the eye and a thick magical curtain of energy reached from the eye and below to the ground, disappearing from Philippa's sight in the mountains. If her sense of direction was correct, it hovered directly over the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

As she stared up in awe, Cassandra spoke. "We call it 'the Breach'. It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave."

Philippa dragged her eyes from the Breach and frowned at Cassandra. The Veil was torn open? That explained the massive migraine she was suffering. "An explosion can do that?"

"This one did," Cassandra said wryly, moving from where she had gotten ahead of Philippa when she had stopped to gape. "Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

As if on cue, a loud pop of sound resonated across the sky and the mark on her palm flashed and crackled, the magic dragging her to her knees. She cried out, pulling her hand into a fist and cradling it against her stomach as the magic fizzled, leaving a tingling sensation that crept up her forearm. Reaching from the mark, thin veins of green magic were seeping up her arm, spreading out the agony across her skin.

Cassandra took a knee in front of her, gesturing in explanation. "Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads... and it is killing you." Philippa felt the blood drain from her cheeks and her stomach flipped. She was dying? "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

With the realization of her fate, her anger flared and she snapped at Cassandra. "So if I do what you want, will I live through it?"

"We have no way of knowing," Cassandra said truthfully, standing and dragging Philippa back to her feet. She guided her along with a hand on her back through the village. Most people wore accusatory scowls and stood with crossed arms, glaring at her being led to her doom. By way of explanation, Cassandra said, "They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead." They left the village and passed through a short stretch of woods that lined the main road. Finally, they came to the paved and built up road that would lead them into the valley where the Temple stood. "We lash out, like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did." Philippa did not quite know how to feel whenever the fact resurfaced that she was the only survivor. Why her? And why survive, only to die by the mark on her hand? "Until the Breach is sealed." Cassandra gently tugged her to a stop just through the gates to the path and circled around in front of her drawing a knife. "There will be a trial. I can promise no more." She cut the ropes binding Philippa's hands and Philippa rubbed at the chafed skin. "Come. It is not far."

"Where exactly are we going?" Philippa asked, her tone careful to sound curious and not accusatory as she fell into step behind Cassandra. Cooperation was key to her survival if she survived at all.

"Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach," Cassandra explained, not really revealing exactly where they were going.

The further from the village they walked, there were fewer villagers and more uniformed soldiers. Some were idle, catching a few breaths along the side of the road. Others ran, bustling from one place to another. And still more were deep in prayer, the Chant of Light carrying on the air. They bypassed blockades on the road and she noticed large balls of fiery magic blazing from the Breach above to fall to the ground all around the valley. It explained the sporadic patches of burning blockade that they kept running into along the road. She was just about to ask for some information when the Breach let off another loud and debilitating pop that had her tripping over her own feet and falling to the ground. Her skull lit up like fire, the pulse reaching further than it had before and blinding her momentarily. Cassandra was at her side, helping her back to her feet and giving a reassuring pat to her shoulder. "The pulses are coming faster now," she said, sealing the need for urgency. "The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face." The rippling magic had reached her wrist now.

Philippa took a breath and followed, slowly building back up to a jog as Cassandra led her forward. "How _did_ I survive the blast?" she wondered as Cassandra slowed a bit when they approached another stone bridge over the frozen lake below. She hadn't even noticed the frigid cold around the pounding of her head

"They said you... stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious," Cassandra explained. "They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was." At least that told her she had not been the only one to see the woman. "Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you'll see soon enough." So they _were_ heading to the Temple. Philippa rubbed at the mark on her hand and wished she could remember anything. The Temple had been immaculate when she arrived. The loss of memory was frustrating. If she lived through this, she would need to do some serious dream-walking on a hunt for information.

Near the end of the bridge, one of the balls of green fire slammed down in front of them, shattering the bridge and spilling her and Cassandra onto the glassy surface of the frozen lake. Philippa landed on her side, the wind briefly knocked out of her before she rolled down off the rubble she had hit and onto the lake. Broken pieces of bridge and bits of the carts full of supplies that had been in the way of the fireball rained down around her. She shielded her head as everything settled and then slowly pushed to her knees, Cassandra already blasting past her with her weapons drawn and shouting for Philippa to stay behind her. Philippa watched as she engaged with one of the demons she had mentioned. It had no legs, hovering around on the air. The robes it wore tapered in at the waist and then rounded back out to form a hunched upper body, giving it an hourglass shape with two spindly arms that grew from it's upper body. A shade, she identified. A lesser demon, but enough to set her teeth grinding as it's physical presence nagged at her mind. As she watched Cassandra fight, light whispering sounds reached her ears and she looked around to identify the source. Between her and Cassandra, a patch of the ground was covered in a hazy black and green wisp of smoke and light. As she realized that a demon was readying to manifest, she panicked, crawling back toward the rubble to put distance between her and the demon. She glanced around in haste and finally spotted a shimmer of metal sticking out from an overturned crate. She scurried to her feet and lurched the crate open, shuffling around the straw packing for a weapon. By sheer luck, among the daggers, bows, and swords, a couple of staves were nestled. She grabbed the closest one, the magic in the wood licking against her skin as she activated it with a touch and tasted what sort of power it had. It was not particularly well made, but it would save her life. She turned on the demon as it crawled up from beneath the ground.

The staff twirled in her hands on instinct and she pushed a winter's grasp spell toward the approaching shade. It froze in place and Philippa grunted in effort as she shifted her grip to the lower end of the shaft and swung the head like a bat. It slammed into the frozen demon and shattered it into pieces with a sharp crack that resounded across the lake. Philippa flinched at the sound and glanced around for more threats as Cassandra's sword pierced the original demon's belly and it melted out of existence. When she saw nothing else manifesting or slithering toward them, she sighed heavily, her breathing labored with the strain of the fall and the fight. "It's over..."

Cassandra charged at her, sword raised and scowl in place. The pointy end of the sword ended in Philippa's face and she suddenly knew how Garrett had felt while Meredith pointed her sword in his face. “Drop your weapon! Now!”

Philippa lifted the staff, her hand gripping the wood a little more tightly even as she raised her left hand in a defensive gesture. It was a terrible time for her questionable sense of humor to surface, but she was in no mood. She chuckled nervously at the sword being brandished in her direction, gently using the head of the staff to nudge it a bit further to the side. “Do you think I need a staff to be dangerous?”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” The woman snarled. Her dark brown eyes narrowed in annoyance and the sword remained pointed, pushing back.

“I haven't used my magic on you, yet,” Philippa reasoned, the freezing mountain winds picking up to blow her hair into her face. She watched the Seeker's face through the wisps of hair as her words sunk in. She didn't dare twitch until Cassandra realized she truly meant her no harm.

Those angry pools of brown slowly softened as Philippa stood stark still. Finally, Cassandra let out a heavy sigh and her legs pulled together as her sword turned and was slipped into a sheathe at her hip. “You do not need a staff, but you should have one. I can not protect you and I should not expect you to be defenseless. I should also remember that you agreed to come willingly.”

Philippa's breath heaved out in a sigh that puffed out around her in a halo of fog, and she loosened her grip on the staff to hold it casually in her tingling left hand while she brushed the hair from her face. The next half hour or so of fighting gave Philippa a chance to try and suss out any information from Cassandra that she could, as well as search her own memories to try and recall anything from the last day...? days...? week? Maker knew how long. No matter how hard she tried, nothing came back to her. Cassandra was slim on details, and knew nothing of what had happened to Carver. She had left him in Haven. Where had he gone? Was he all right? Every half answer led to three more questions. Her brain was slowly turning to mush as she attempted to answer them all while she was physically and mentally assaulted by the presence of so many demons right out in the open. Cassandra seemed oblivious to her headache, urging her forward relentlessly.

Soon, the Seeker paused, a hand up to stop Philippa as well. She cocked her head to listen. Philippa was glad for the reprieve, hoping to catch her breath. “We are close. You can hear the fighting.” She took off again at a run.

“Who's fighting?” Philippa asked, her pace quickening as she followed Cassandra up the hill ahead, with a sigh, her staff coming in handy to keep her footing in the blanket of snow covering the stairway.

“You will see soon. We must hurry!” Cassandra called behind her as she began to sprint more quickly.

At the top of the hill, the ground leveled briefly, putting them back on the path they had been following above before the bridge had been destroyed beneath them. To their right, the path had once crossed over the frozen lake as a wooden bridge, but the structure had been destroyed. Ahead was no different, but below in the dip among the debris, several soldiers were engaged with a group of demons that seemed to be pouring from a much smaller version of the breach in the sky. It was currently a hovering green crystal snapping and crackling and reshaping before her very eyes. Within an instant, the crystal burst open, and through the green slit in the air, she could see an image of the Fade beyond. Philippa could feel the Fade licking over her skin. Cassandra immediately dropped from the ledge where they stood and charged at the nearest demon. Philippa maintained her small amount of high ground, surveying the battle as she forced her eyes from the tear in the veil belching demons. She was not the only mage on the field, she realized, as powerful, unfamiliar, magic burst in a ripple of fire from her left. She looked to see a tall, bald elf wielding a staff with a particular amount of grace. He was average looking in every way from his drab clothing to his anonymous features. He had all of the common features of an elf, and nothing on him particularly stood out from this distance. It made Philippa uneasy to be seeing someone so common looking wielding such powerful magic. It was as if he were drawing directly from the Fade itself, manipulating the energy seeping from the rift.

Her observations happened in a split second, and she moved to defend a few of the soldiers that were caught between a pair of shades. As she dropped down after erecting a barrier around herself, she pushed her way forward with a few physical spells to get close to one of the shades and begin protecting the soldiers. With her and Cassandra's help, the demons went down a little easier. When the last shade was felled across the field, Philippa realized she had made her way all of the way beneath the rift. She looked up, glimpsing the twisted reflection on the other side. Before she could even squint to get a better look, someone grabbed a hold of her wrist, aggravating the scraping pain of the mark. She spun, hissing and flinching, to see who held her, and it was the strangely innocuous elf. His expression was strained and his breathing quick as she felt him reign in his own power before piercing her with his gaze. His large eyes were grey with flecks of brown and blue, the likes of which she had never seen before. His heavy brows were knitted together as he spoke to her over the sound of rushing water that the rift was making. “Quickly! Before more come through!”

He lifted her arm towards the rift and the mark reacted to the magic. The magic flared, shocking up and down her forearm before a tendril of thick green light arched from her palm to the center of the rift. She felt a building of power that threatened to wash over her senses. Just when she thought she could take no more, a loud snap shattered the rushing sound and the rift closed, leaving her palm tingling as the power returned where it belonged. She pulled her hand away, cradling her burning fist against her chest as she gaped at the elf. “What did you do?”

The expression on his face had changed to one of contained amusement. Up close, he had a strong jaw and a narrow, dimpled chin. He was attractive for an elf, even without hair. His body was tall and lithe and he dressed in a simple tunic and green lambskin vest. He wore no shoes below his matching green leggins and footwraps. His staff was tucked on his back behind a travelers backpack. He stood in a manner that conveyed propriety, but casualness that she recognized as the stance of someone who knew how to be charming. His tone when he answered her was self assured and a little bit proud. “ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.” He inclined his head slightly in a short bow of concession.

" _I_ closed that thing? How?" she asked, pulling her hand away from her chest to look at the slowly calming blaze of green on her palm. Even the veins had receded from her wrist and now merely trickled along her palm and up her fingers.

Another tip of his head came before he spoke. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake and it seems I was correct.”

Cassandra approached, her tone curious. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself?”

The elf let out a short chuckle. “Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Philippa blinked at him, her mind trying to wrap itself around the statement when another voice rose from a few feet away. “Good to know. And here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever.” She spun at the familiar voice, a smile spreading across her face as she looked down on Varric. He returned her grin. "Leave it to you to get wrapped up in this mess, Charmer."

Varric loved his nicknames, as she had learned, and it was not long after she had left the Circle before she had inherited her own. She chuckled shortly, rolling her eyes as she took in his appearance. His nose was crooked and recently broken, a deep gash across the bridge evidence to that. She wondered how that had happened. "Well, I feel a lot better now that I have you and Bianca at my back."

"Absolutely not!" Cassandra objected. "Your help is appreciated, Varric, but..."

He cut her off with a sarcastic chuckle of his own. "Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me." His expression said he was enjoying rubbing salt in a wound between him and Cassandra. Varric was good at prodding. She wondered why he was there, but Cassandra didn't give her a chance to ask.

She let out a grunt of disgust and waved an angry dismissive hand, turning from him in frustration. "My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," the elven mage interrupted, making certain that they remembered he was there. "I am pleased to see you still live."

Philippa tipped her head in curiosity as Varric added his own explanation. "He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept'."

"You're apparently the expert here," Philippa said with curiosity, her eyes widening. She had spent most of her life in the Circle, learning about obscure magic, but what was happening in the sky was beyond her. There was something behind his gaze. Like he knew much more than everyone and was awfully pleased with himself for the fact.

“Unlike you, Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra said with a surprising amount of acceptance in her up-until-then harsh tone.

“All mages are now apostates, Cassandra.” Solas said, his tone never changing from the scholarly hum that he had put forth so far. Then he switched topics as his gaze again fell on Philippa. “You should know that the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Indeed, your prisoner is a mage, but I find it hard to imagine any mage with such power.” He obviously didn't know what she was, not that she thought she could rip open the Fade with her somniari powers, but she was most likely more powerful than anyone he had met.

“Understood,” Cassandra said politely. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

She started off toward a break in the guard rail as Philippa realized that the path ahead was blocked by a crumbling roadway. She trailed behind, watching Solas follow behind the Seeker, his footfalls almost silent. “Well,” Varric said with a sigh, tapping Philippa's elbow as he passed to catch up. “Bianca's excited.”

She stuck close to Varric as they pushed forward, following Cassandra and fighting demons along the way. He probed her for information about why she was there, and she found out from him that Cassandra had less than politely 'invited' him to come to Haven and share his story about Garrett with the Divine, since he knew so much about her brother and Anders. According to Varric, he hadn't seen Carver either, but he assured her that it didn't mean he wasn't somewhere in the Valley helping in the fight. Anyone who was in the village when the explosion happened was mostly unharmed. Just as she was shaking off a sharp flare of the mark on her hand, Varric looked at her with a half frown. "So... are you innocent?"

"If I'm being honest, Varric, I have no idea. If I had a hand in all of this, I don't remember why or how. I don't remember anything beyond stepping in the front doors of the Temple," she said truthfully, seeing no sense in lying now. In her state, she couldn't even have thought up a convincing lie if her life depended on it.

"That'll get you every time. Should have spun a story," he advised with a chuckle.

"That's what _you_ would have done," Cassandra accused with a sneer. Every time Cassandra said Varric's name it was like she was spitting poison, and even when addressing him, the tone was the same.

"It's more believable, and less prone to result in premature execution," he shrugged just before more demons fell from the sky to interrupt.

When the demons were dead, Cassandra looked around at the mess of corpses all around. "I hope Leliana made it through all this."

"She's resourceful, Seeker," Varric said with compassion, ignoring all of the apparent tension between the two of them to allay her fears. The more Philippa got to know Varric, the more she understood why Garrett had gotten so close with the dwarf over the last ten years. As much as he pretended otherwise, he was a genuinely good person.

At the top of the hill they were climbing, they finally came back across the stone road. The gate onto the next section was blocked by another rift. Philippa helped to kill demons until the shifting crystal shaped itself into the shimmery window and then threw her arm up towards the rift. Her mark reacted again and she took a moment to reach out and feel the magic, trying to familiarize herself with how it reacted with her own mana. It was strange, foreign, to her mind, but she was certain that she could bend the mark to her will. She was adept at controlling her power with an indomitable precision and now the mark was part of her magic. The rift snapped closed and soldiers on the other side of the gate cranked the heavy doors open so they could enter. "We are clear for the moment. Well done," Solas praised.

Varric chuckled in agreement. "Whatever that thing on your hand is, it's useful."

They walked into what must have been the forward camp that they had been heading for. It felt like hours since she had been pulled from the darkness of the Chantry dungeon. Ahead, Leliana stood, looking unscathed, beside a man in Chantry robes. "We must prepare the soldiers," Leliana said loudly.

"We will do no such thing!" the man returned, his tone suggesting he had been arguing the same point for several hours.

"The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance!" Leliana argued back.

"You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility," he snapped.

Leliana scoffed, crossing her arms. " _I_ have caused trouble?"

"You, Cassandra, the Most Holy... haven't you all done enough already?" he asked in exasperation.

"You are not in charge here," Leliana said in a mildly threatening tone.

"Enough!" he swiped his hand in finality. "I will not have it!" He looked up from whatever papers he had been studying on the table in front of him and growled. "Ah, here they come." Clearly he was disgusted as he set a scowl on Philippa.

"You made it!" Leliana said in relief, rounding the table to greet them. "Chancellor Roderick, this is..."

Before Leliana could finish, he cut her off. "I know who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you," he pointed to Cassandra. "to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution." Philippa's heart skipped. Wasn't it enough that the mark was already slowly killing her? He had to add execution to the sentence and speed things up? She couldn't even remember what had happened.

" 'Order me'? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!" Cassandra scoffed.

The Chancellor clapped back. "And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!"

"We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor," Leliana reminded him. "As you well know."

He threw his arms up and gestured wildly. "Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey _her_ orders on the matter!"

Philippa knew a circular argument when she heard it, having endured much the same in her years in Kirkwall between the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander, so she joined in. "Maybe we should be more worried about the gaping hole in the sky?"

He turned his angry glare on her. " _You_ brought this on us in the first place!" Cassandra approached him, her hand twitching near her sword hilt. He didn't seem to notice. "Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless."

"We can stop this before it's too late," Cassandra insisted.

"How?" he asked, much more softly than he had been speaking yet. "You won't survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers."

"We must get to the Temple," Cassandra argued. "It's the quickest route."

"But not the safest," Leliana interjected calmly. "Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains."

Cassandra gasped at the suggestion. "We lost an entire squad on that path. It's too risky."

"Listen to me," the Chancellor pleaded again. "Abandon this now before more lives are lost!"

A loud pop from the Breach had her hand shaking and lifting uncontrollably toward the sky. She grabbed her wrist with her opposite hand and brought the limb under control as the pain slowly subsided. When she looked up, all eyes were on her. "How do _you_ think we should proceed?" Cassandra asked.

Astonished that her opinion was being asked, her mouth fell open as she pressed her thumb into the throbbing of her marked palm. " _Now_ my opinion matters?"

“You have the mark,” Solas pointed out.

“And _you_ are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra added.

 _For all of the good that'll do in the long run_. Philippa thought, her eyes narrowing. “I say we charge. If this mark doesn't kill me on the way up the mountain, I'll be surprised.” She pushed past Cassandra who almost immediately fell in behind her.

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. _Everyone_.” Cassandra called as he kept pace behind Philippa.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” the Chancellor snarled.

Philippa rolled her eyes at the comment. What good was it to warn Cassandra that this was going to fall on her. Just because he was scared, didn't give him the right to bully people that were just trying to help. As her head continued to pound, she slowed her angry pace and allowed Cassandra to retake the lead. When they reached the entry to the courtyard outside the ruined temple, Philippa heard the signs of another scuffle going on behind the door. It was partially open and she darted up the steps and slammed her way through the entryway. Her magic uncoiled from her chest and rushed to her fingertips then she saw a unit of soldiers fighting a group of demons beneath another small rift. She heard the footfalls of her companions behind her as she surveyed the battlefield. “How many rifts are there?!” Varric shouted as she heard him crank Bianca and place a bolt into position.

“We must seal it! Quickly!” Solas shouted as his magic tugged on hers. She bolted ahead, her staff already spinning as she stopped a good distance from the rift in the back-line. She jerked to a halt and slung a spell that pulled up the ground in front of one of the demons, knocking it away from the soldier that was preoccupied with a fiery demon of rage. She immediately forgot the demon she'd knocked back, instead focusing her magic on the rage demon. She called forth a Winter's Grasp spell and the demon froze in it's tracks, its arms upraised and it's body looming over the frightened soldier. The claws at the tips of its lava fingers poised to grip him up and rip bloody gashes into his flesh. The scene was surreal for a split second as time slowed and a bolt whipped past Philippa's head and planted in the demon's chest, shattering the frozen monstrosity.

Philippa looked down as green ripples of smoke, like ripples on the surface of water, began to form beneath her feet. Light whispers carried over the air like someone calling to her. She backed away as the chanting made the ripples spread. She was knocked off her feet as a new kind of demon shot up from the ground inside the smoke. It was easily ten feet tall and its limbs were long and wiry. It's face was made of one large vertical mouth lined in jagged rows of teeth that stretched down through it's neck and into it's chest. Terror, she realized and froze, her staff forgotten on the ground beside her. It was not the first time she had ever encountered a terror demon, but it _was_ the first time it had been in the flesh. The thing reared back, a terrifying shriek deafening her as it howled towards the sky. She clapped her hands over her ears, the agony of her headache nearly splitting her in two as the sound bounced around inside her skull, just as a soldier stepped between her and the demon. His shadow blocked out the sun as he held his shield aloft against the demon as it raked claws downwards towards him. Of all things in that moment to catch her eye, she was surprised to notice the armor he wore. It was like none she'd ever seen before. Simple leather pants covered his legs, tucked into battle worn boots covered in plates that were specifically designed to protect his shins and knees. Blowing in the wind was a stark red cloak that was designed to wrap around his body for maximum efficiency and warmth, leaving nothing that might trip him up while he fought. Beneath the cloak was a simple breast plate to protect his body and he wore leather gloves with wrist guards. On the guards she took note of the Templar emblem. The helm on his head was adorned like the collar of his cloak with dark red and black fur and shaped like the head of a lion. She shook her head, dislodging the ridiculous thoughts and scrambled to her feet grabbing up her staff in the time he had bought her. He seemed to have the demon in hand, fighting with vigor and a strange grace she didn't normally associate with Templars as the thick mane of fur around his neck ruffled in the wind. Leaving him to it, she hopped into a jog, ignoring her headache to help with the rest of the battle. When the demons were slain, and all she could hear was the eerie sound of running water that came along with a rift, she lifted her hand and the mark took over, closing the rift.

“Sealed, as before.” Solas said, his startling approach making her jump. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.” He leaned forward with both hands on his staff and a self satisfied smirk on his face.

“Let's hope it works on the big one,” Varric said a bit less enthusiastically as he stared up at the Breach.

“Lady Cassandra. You've managed to close the rift. Well done,” the new voice that entered their midst was so familiar that she even recognized it through the helm. He pulled the helm from his head and she gasped as he addressed Cassandra and was so distracted that he didn't even notice her. His amber colored eyes were ringed with the signs of exhaustion, but still his tone was upbeat. His blonde hair settled in delicate waves, one piece hanging over his forehead that had come loose from the rest. She took a moment to wonder just how awful her hair must look after everything she'd been through and she ran nervous fingers through it as Cassandra gave her all of the credit for closing the rift and his gaze fell on her. Finally, his gaze slipped from the Seeker to fall on her, and she thought he might faint as his face paled. "Maker's breath, Hawke!?" He looked from her to Cassandra and his expression soured. "You didn't tell me who your prisoner was..." he growled angrily. "You let me think... let her brother think she was dead!"

Before Cassandra could answer, Philippa inserted herself into the conversation. "Wait, you told them I was dead?"

"I did not," Cassandra denied. "We knew nothing about what had happened, and when we found you, we knew even less of your involvement. I could not risk any sympathy until I could speak to you."

Philippa rolled her eyes and directed her attention to the templar who was staring at her like she were a ghost. "Carver's all right? Where is he?"

Cullen sighed heavily. "After the explosion, he came to us, wanting to help fight the demons. Last thing I heard he was in the valley with another unit of soldiers. If I can, I'll get word to him that you're alive." His shocked expression softened and he smiled crookedly at her. "It's good to see you."

She returned the smile, her eyes flicking deviously to the lion helm. "It's good to see you too, Knight-Commander."

He balked. "It's... just Commander, now. I'm not part of the Order, anymore. If we survive this, I'll explain." After a moment, he sighed. "Let's hope they're right about you. We've lost a lot of people getting you here."

She snorted and nodded in agreement. “You're not the only one hoping that,” she grunted, still not sure if she was going to be able to do what they expected of her.

“We'll see soon enough, won't we?” He turned back to Cassandra, all hint of his smirk gone and he said, “The path to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we'd best move quickly. Give us time, Commander,” Cassandra said, beckoning her and the others to follow.

“Maker watch over you... For all our sakes,” he said softly, the wind nearly carrying his words away before they reached her ears. He jogged off towards where they'd come from and paused to take a limping soldier under his arm and help the man back towards the makeshift camp.

Philippa tore her gaze from the Commander and followed Cassandra further into the ruins of the temple. The Seeker gasped as she laid eyes on the destruction up close. Apparently she had not been up there yet. The ground had leveled out and they were inside the ring of destruction. She gasped as she looked around at the countless bodies strewn all over. Not a single one remained that was not charred beyond recognition. Some of them still smoked, rivulets of bright red shining from beneath the blackened skin. Most were frozen in the moment of their death, some sprawled on the ground, others kneeling and still more were killed so quickly that they remained standing, the blast of heat and magic anchoring them to their spot. It was horrific and the smell of sulfur and charred flesh had Philippa's eyes watering and her stomach churning. She carefully placed her feet as she walked, not wanting to accidentally tread on stray bones or body parts. Ash was still raining from the sky to replace the snow that had built up on her hair. "The Temple of Sacred Ashes," Solas gasped in horror.

"What's left of it," Varric mumbled, being as selective with his footing as she was.

"That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you," Cassandra explained. "They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

They passed down into a hallway that was surprisingly still standing and followed the sharp turn around to come out on the central hall. It was likely that the conclave would have been held in that room if it had ever gotten off the ground. There was a central spire that divided the room and all of the way around the large open space was a balcony. Philippa looked out over the hall and spotted a gigantic rift that was currently formed into a shifting green crystal. The flow of energy from the Breach found it's bottom in the rift, wisping off in a few other directions, but always wrapping back around itself. "The Breach is a long way up," Varric mumbled as he passed by her, his neck craned upwards toward the sky where the vortex of clouds hummed.

After only a few moments of staring in awe at the catastrophic mess in the sky, Leliana's soft voice broke through the hum. "You're here! Thank the Maker!" Philippa glanced back at her, but returned her gaze to task as her hand tingled.

"Leliana," Cassandra requested. "Have your men take up positions around the temple." A shuffling told her the request was being heeded. Suddenly, Cassandra stepped directly in front of her. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"

Philippa looked back up at the impossibly high Breach above them. "I don't suppose you have a ladder?"

"No," Solas corrected, pointing at the crackling crystals of the rift below. "This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach."

There was a lot more maybe in that statement than Philippa would have liked, but the circumstances left her with little choice. It seemed it was, give it her best try, or die from inaction. Cassandra seemed as unsatisfied as she was, but the Seeker sighed and glanced between her and Solas. "Then let's find a way down. And be careful."

They followed the balcony around the room, looking for a way down. Great stalagmites that looked out of place became visible as the balcony closed in around them. They hummed with veins of green light that pulsed gently. As more people filtered in, taking up defensive places all around, the rift began to react. A booming voice echoed from everywhere and Philippa cringed. NOW IS THE HOUR OF OUR VICTORY! BRING FORTH THE SACRIFICE! "What are we hearing?" Cassandra gasped, her hand reaching for her sword as the noise startled her.

As the booming voice spoke and Solas explained that he believed it to be the echo of the person who created the Breach, Philippa picked out another sound. A melodic hum was emanating from around them. She looked around to find the source, and all she saw were bright glowing spikes of crystal emitting a warm and inviting cloud of red fog to match their color. The scar on Philippa's side that had come from Meredith's blade seemed to resonate with the humming, a dull ache forming to join the rest of the pains she was enduring. "You know this stuff is Red Lyrium, Seeker," Varric's voice broke the spell of the crystals jutting from between the spikes of rock and Philippa flinched, rubbing her side and stepping away from the nasty stuff.

"I see it, Varric," Cassandra spat, her lip curled back in disgust.

"But what's it _doing_ here?" he asked, his brown eyes slightly wider than normal and the inflection of that particular word making her realize that there was likely more to the story of red lyrium than what Garrett had explained to her.

"Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it..." Solas guessed.

Varric shuddered. "Ach. It's evil. Whatever you do, don't touch it."

KEEP THE SACRIFICE STILL. The booming voice was calm, but overbearing, and there was something naggingly familiar about it, but it was impossible for Philippa to identify exactly what.

SOMEONE HELP ME! Philippa didn't recognize the new female voice, but Cassandra didn't allow her to remain ignorant for long. "That is Divine Justinia's voice!"

They were finally forced to hop down into the crater that was the center of the room. Philippa approached the rift and the voices continued. SOMEONE HELP ME! The Divine repeated.

WHAT'S GOING ON HERE? Her own voice shocked Philippa and she touched her throat with no memory of speaking the words they were hearing. A short, shadowy play acted out before them. Spirits of the Fade repeating the events from their perspective, offering them a glimpse of a few of the events leading up to the Divine's death. Cassandra pounced as the mark flared, excited to be so close to the rift. "That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But..."

She was cut short by a crackling of energy and then a strangely surreal magical happening. A bright flash made Philippa back up, shielding her eyes and before her, an image of the Divine hung, bound at her outstretched wrists by something they could not see. In front of her was a tall and twisted, shadowy black figure holding something before it in it's palm. Then she watched herself jog up and say, "Whats going on here?"

"Run while you can! Warn them!" the Divine pleaded, but it was too late.

The black figure spoke quickly. "We have an intruder. Kill her, now!"

As it raised it's arm to point toward Philippa's figure, the flash came again and all of the phantoms were gone. Solas moved up past her to study the rift while Cassandra badgered her with a string of questions. "You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she...? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?"

Philippa rounded on the woman and sneered. "I don't remember!" she growled for what felt like the hundredth time. Why was no one listening? Her head was screaming with the proximity to the Breach, and her side aching from the lyrium all around. Death just might have been more comfortable.

"Echoes of what happened here," Solas interrupted. The Fade bleeds into this place. Cassandra left her alone and charged toward Solas to listen to his explanation as Philippa pressed the heels of her hands briefly into her temples. "This rift is not sealed, but it _is_ closed... albeit temporarily." He turned and graced them with his attention. "I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons. Stand ready!" Cassandra ordered, her voice rising to address the assembled soldiers.

Once everyone was in place, Cassandra gave Philippa a nod and she approached the rift. She reached for the mark, feeling the flow of energy from it to the rift. Normally, she was closing the rift, but this time she needed to do it backwards. She reached up, directing the magic as best she could and it connected. When opening a rift, the feeling of a great pressure was switched to a sensation that everything was being sucked out of her, like being hit with a smite. She cringed and pressed forward. Finally, the magic severed, snapping the rift open. She had no chance to reverse the magic and seal the rift before a massive pride demon manifested from the other side. Philippa stared up at the demon, her headache renewed a thousandfold as it bellowed a horrible laugh before a ball of energy appeared between it's palms and lightning crackled around them. She backed away from the demon as it bore down on her. Thankfully the archers on the walls drew it's attention away. It turned its head and roared in anger, throwing it's arm back and a whip of lightning slapping across the open area with a loud crack. Philippa Fade stepped away, opening a small portal that jumped her a short distance from the thick of the fight. She landed beside Varric who was rapidly firing repeating bolts from Bianca. “You certainly know how to keep things interesting, Charmer," he said with a chuckle.

"As long as you aren't bored," she returned, summoning her magic again to begin fighting the giant demon.

He shot her a smirk before returning his attention to the demon. "It's almost like having your brother back."

“More coming through the rift!” Cassandra called.

Philippa narrowed her eyes toward the rift and saw some more smaller demons leaking through the seam. “You keep whittling down that big one,” she said to Varric who nodded almost imperceptibly. “I'll handle the new arrivals.”

She focused her attentions on the two shades who had begun to slither across the field. She whistled noisily, hurting her own ears and drawing their attention before shifting a firewall spell to the top of her staff and setting the ground between her and the demons ablaze. They reared back as she Fade stepped again to pass through them and land behind them, leaving a freezing trail that stopped them from following her. The ice was quickly melting in the blaze from her firewall, so she called another ball of fire to her palm which she released in their direction. On instinct, she reached for the rift again, hoping to possibly seal it before anything else came through, and again the mark made a connection. When she completed the connection and pulled her blazing hand back to wrap around the staff, the big demon roared and fell to a knee. The other two fell dead, slithering back into the ground and disappearing. “Disrupting the rifts hurts the demons!” She gasped. It was a good bit of information to have even if it didn't close the rift. She whirled and began to throw spells at the still kneeling demon, hoping to chip away at it's defenses before it could recover. It took several times of her using the mark on the rift to help whittle down the demon, but finally, it fell to it's knees and Cassandra ran in to slice through it's neck. Philippa took the opportunity to rush to the rift and raise her palm to it a final time. "Do it!" Cassandra encouraged.

The rift licked eagerly at the open mark, igniting Philippa's senses all at once. Her nerves burned, her ears rang, and the smell of stagnant water was so intense that she could almost taste it. The last thing she remembered was a brilliant flash of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUN!! What will this all mean for our somniari?  
> I've done my best with the flow of the story to give Philippa her own voice in spite of her taking on the role of Inquisitor.


	22. Ingratiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By some miracle, Philippa is still alive, but her life is about to change in ways she never saw coming.

Philippa's next human recollection was a piercing headache. Before opening her eyes, she cringed, slowly drawing on her mana to cast a few small creation spells to assess her well-being. Short of the migraine, her health seemed normal. She flexed her palm, still feeling the strange tingling mark that connected her to the Fade. As she groaned at the prospect of opening her eyes to the light around her, someone spoke. "Phil?" his voice said softly.

She forced her lids open and in spite of her headache, she smiled at her younger brother. "You're alive," she grunted, pushing up onto her elbows and reaching up with her right hand to press her fingers to her forehead.

"I could say the same about you," Carver said with a scowl. "Could you imagine what Garrett would do to me if you had died in that Temple?"

"Always thinking about yourself," she said teasingly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed she had been put in. Slowly standing, she got a better look at her surroundings. Carver sat in a chair a few feet from a simple wooden door in the front of the one room cabin, his arms crossed. The walls and ceiling were also wood and the floor was covered in a smattering of different animal fur rugs. It was rustic and homey, likely having belonged to one of the residents of Haven. The bed was sized for two, and of a typical Ferelden style. A few well placed torches and paintings lined the walls. There was a single window on the opposite side of the room where the bed sat nestled in the corner, blocked in on the side and bottom by small nightstands. The one by the head of the bed was an old barrel atop which sat some medical potions and poultices. The one at the foot had a mug and an untouched bottle of wine. A lute rested against the table. There were a couple of bookshelves on either side of the door and along the windowed wall sat a writing desk and chair, a few more barrels, and a small chest. On one of the barrels, a wash basin sat with a rag beside it, and on the other, a looking glass. A fireplace was squeezed in between the bookshelf and the nightstand at the foot of the bed. "How did I get here?" she asked, increasingly disturbed by the gaps in her memory. She needed some time to breathe so she could consult the Fade and try to find out what had happened to her. "And where are my clothes?" She realized that she had been cleaned of the layer of blood and dirt she had accumulated while fighting, and changed into a casual set of pajamas in an ugly tan.

Carver tipped his head to a basket beside his chair. "A servant brought those a few minutes ago."

She walked across the room and knelt slowly, hoping that the headache might eventually let up. She picked out her clothes and they had also been washed and mended. Carver picked up his chair without fully standing and turned himself and it around so she could change. "Everything feels calmer around here," she observed as she pulled off the pajama shirt and slipped back into her comfortable tunic and vest.

"The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. The whole village has been abuzz about it for the last three days," Carver said to the door.

"Three days?" she gasped. Maker knew how long it had been before that, and her stomach reminded her it had been a very long time since she had eaten. "How long ago was the Conclave?"

"You left Haven to climb to the Temple a week ago," he informed her.

She flinched and finished getting changed, using her fingers to brush her hair into some semblance of neat. "So do I get to go on trial now?" she asked sarcastically.

Carver glanced quickly around to be sure she was changed before standing and turning to face her fully. "Trial? As far as I know, you're our savior..."

She harrumphed, crossing her arms. "Well, that's a switch."

"Seeker Cassandra asked to see you as soon as you woke up," he said as she whisked her eyes over his person to be sure he was all right.

She sighed. She had been hoping to take a moment to put some food in her belly. "Right. Where is she?"

"I'll walk you to the Chantry," he offered.

She wasn't certain what to think of Carver's attitude. She knew how he felt about being overshadowed by his siblings. She hadn't exactly chosen to be burdened with the mark on her palm, but according to Garrett, Carver tended to blame you for things even if you had no control over them. Her musings were interrupted as she followed him from the small house, and surrounding the path through the village, were dozens of people. Soldiers, civilians, elves, humans, and dwarves all stood in droves to stare in awe at her as Carver led the way through the village. She caught a few whispering voices talking about her and what she had done at the Breach. Some were impressed, beyond measure, and others viewed her actions as not enough. She took a moment to glance up at the sky. The Breach was still swirling like a big angry storm cloud, but it was no longer spewing fiery green meteors that deposited demons wherever they landed. Whatever she had done had sort of worked, and the veins of magic had receded from her palm all together, leaving only the glowing gash itself. It was a step in the right direction.

They went upwards into the village and she noticed all of the makeshift living space in the form of tents and lean-tos that had taken over the open space in the middle of the town. Carver noticed her looking around and he leaned closer to her. "This reminds me of Lothering during the Blight. Refugees came from villages further south seeking a place to stay. Accept now, it's not refugees, but soldiers. No one is really certain what to do about the hole in the sky." He stopped outside the Chantry doors. "I'll uh... I'll wait out here if you don't mind. That red head terrifies me."

Philippa snorted and rolled her eyes as she pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the cool Chantry. No one seemed to be in the main hall. Philippa followed the runner carpet beneath her feet toward where she heard muffled voices. The closer she got, the more she could hear. “Have you gone completely mad?” she heard the Chancellor's voice as clear as day. “She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.”

The next voice to rise was Cassandra's. “I do not believe she is guilty.”

“The mage failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way,” the Chancellor argued.

“I do not believe that,” Cassandra's voice was insistent.

“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”

“My _duty_ is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours.” Philippa found herself pressed against the door, listening intently and trying to gauge the atmosphere into which she was about to walk. If the Chancellor had any sway, she was in deep water.

She sighed and pushed the door open to step inside. The room was small, bookshelves lining the back side. To her left and right on the walls, statues of Andraste were carved into alcoves. In the middle of the room, there were two wooden tables pushed together with a few papers strewn across the surfaces. Cassandra and Leliana stood on the other side of the table looking irritated. And Chancellor Roderick, standing on the left hand side of the table pounced as soon as the door clicked open. “Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the Capitol for trial.”

Philippa's breath caught in her chest as she noticed the two Templars in full plate guarding the door that she had just walked through. _Shit_. Cassandra was just as quick as the Chancellor, however, and she growled. “Disregard that. And leave us.”

Philippa released her breath as the Templars saluted with fists to their chests and followed Cassandra's orders. As they closed the door behind them, Philippa shot the Chancellor a victorious smirk as she approached the large table that he, Cassandra and Leliana stood around. “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

Cassandra moved from where she stood to tower over the man. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will _not_ ignore it.” The candle light cast shadows on her face, making her already high cheekbones and chiseled jaw stand out more starkly and the deep scar across her left cheek look more menacing. Philippa was definitely glad that the warrior seemed to be on her side.

“So I closed the giant rift and you _still_ think I'm a suspect?” she asked cautiously, gauging everyone's reactions to her when she spoke.

“You absolutely _are_.” The Chancellor grumbled.

“No. She is not,” Cassandra said with more finality.

Leliana spoke up finally lending her voice to the fray. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did _not_ expect. Perhaps they died with the others...” Her blue eyes flicked menacingly toward the Chancellor and Philippa could see why Carver had said he was afraid of her. “Or have allies who yet live.”

The Chancellor took a step back. “ _I_ am a suspect?”

“ _You._ ” Leliana confirmed. “And many others.”

“But _not_ the prisoner?” The Chancellor asked in shock.

“I heard the voices in the temple,” Cassandra said. “The Divine called to her for help.”

“So, her survival... That thing on her hand... all a coincidence?” the Chancellor asked skeptically as Philippa crossed her arms under her chest, her fist clenched around the mark as it tingled in her palm.

“Providence,” Cassandra corrected. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Philippa dropped her arms. Had Cassandra just called her a chosen one? “You realize I'm a mage?” She reminded the woman skeptically.

“I have not forgotten,” Cassandra said with a gentle smile and a light bow of her head. “No matter what you are or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

Philippa averted her gaze, again feeling heat rush to her face. Leliana spoke next. “The Breach remains. And your mark is still our only hope of closing it,” she said softly.

“It is not for you to decide!” the Chancellor spoke up again.

While Leliana had distracted him, Cassandra had fetched a large heavy book from a shelf behind her. She slammed the book down on the table and jammed a finger at it. “Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” The symbol of the Chantry blazed on it's cover and Philippa was curious. She stepped closer to look at the book. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” Cassandra removed her finger from the book and bore down on the man, that same finger nearly jabbing him in the chest as he backed away. “We will close the Breach. We will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

The Chancellor narrowed his eyes and looked between the three of them before realizing he was outnumbered. He turned and left, slamming the door behind him, making Philippa flinch. Cassandra's shoulders slumped and she reached up to nervously scratch at her short cropped black hair before dismissively waving that same hand in the direction of the door. Philippa leaned her palms on the table over the book. Her heart was fluttering rapidly as she stared at the Andrastian Sun on the cover. “This is the Divine's directive,” Leliana preached passionately, her gloved fingertips touching the book reverently. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers and now, no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice. We must act now...” Cassandra added. “With _you_ at our side.”

Philippa looked up. _Who me?_ Both Leliana and Cassandra were watching her intently. She flinched but sighed. They needed her mark. If it kept her out from under Templar scrutiny, she would help. “The prisoner swoops in to save the day? It's not what I pictured when I woke up,” she quipped.

“Neither did we,” Leliana said, smiling from beneath her purple hood.

“Help us fix this before it's too late,” Cassandra reached out her right hand with hope in her eyes.

Philippa grinned, hoping this was not going to take much longer, and then grasped Cassandra's forearm with her right hand. Cassandra's fingers wrapped around her arm as well and they shook in agreement.

Having survived the initiation into what was being called the Inquisition, Philippa was allowed to leave the Chantry. Carver was awaiting her outside as he had promised. It was no longer overcast as it had been then she'd left the dungeon. The sun was out and some of the snow on the paths through the village had melted away. After they headed to the Tavern and she got a much needed meal from a soft spoken young woman named Flissa, Carver explained what had been going on in Haven while she slept. The world was in shambles. With the Conclave destroyed and the Divine dead, the mage-templar war had renewed. With her stomach filled, Philippa was eager to make herself useful. Anything she did would be a distraction for the headache that she was beginning to realize was likely going to be permanent as long as the Breach loomed in the sky.

She left Carver, and headed out into the village. The first person she met was a young woman named Threnn who introduced herself as Inquisition Quartermaster. After speaking to Threnn for less than five minutes, Philippa could tell that nearly everyone in the village that performed a service of any kind was short on materials. She made her way around from the Quartermaster to the Apothecary and the Smith, promising to do whatever she could to help them at least identify mining and logging sites, as well as pick the odd elfroot or spindleweed whenever she came across them. The Apothecary, Adan, was the most pleased with her offer to help, and offered to mix her up anything special that she might need in exchange. Taking him up on the offer, she wondered if he might be able to brew her something to dull her migraines. He promised her results by morning.

As she walked back through the village, looking for any other ways to make herself useful, she spotted Varric sitting by a fire between two small tents. The camping equipment was a regular thing in the village and outside the gates. Haven was not a large village and they had taken every bit of extra room and thrown up tents to house all of the soldiers and pilgrims flocking in as news spread.

She headed for Varric and he glanced up when her shadow blocked the light he was using to lovingly rub oil on Bianca's joints. He set aside his work and scanned the area before speaking. "So, now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day."

With a harsh chuckle, she rubbed at her brow. “I don't even know what's happening anymore.”

“That makes two of us,” Varric mused. “For days now, we've been staring up at the Breach watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. 'Bad for morale' would be an understatement. I still can't believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“I would hope I would be able to tell if this was a dream, but I'm equally convinced this is a prank,” she joked, although the joke was not altogether untrue.

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there's a damn good punch line coming. You might wanna consider running at the first opportunity. I've written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I've seen that. But the hole in the sky? That's beyond heroes... We're going to need a miracle.” He sighed again and picked up the crossbow, returning to his meticulous care.

"That's me," she mumbled grumpily. "A bloody miracle."

Before she could turn and walk away, he grunted and kicked out the stump beside him, offering her a seat. When she sat, his eyes shifted over her. "I noticed what happened in the Temple with the red lyrium. Your scar... does it react to the stuff?"

"That was my first encounter with it since the Gallows, but it seems like even after the remains of the stuff was leeched from the wound, it still knows what created it. That must sound insane," she said with a chuckle, her hand absently rubbing over the spot on her side.

"That... doesn't sound insane at all," he admitted. "I've seen that stuff do some really weird shit. I'll tell you about it when we have more time..." he nodded his head behind her and she turned to see a soldier approaching.

"My Lady, Seeker Pentaghast asked to see you in the Chantry," the soldier said to her, his fist crossing over his chest in a salute.

She turned to Varric with a questioning glance, unused to the level of respect she was receiving. He shrugged and waved his hand dismissively, indicating she should go. She stood and followed the soldier to the doors of the Chantry where Cassandra was waiting for her. The Seeker tipped her head and dismissed the soldier, turning to head inside. Philippa followed her quietly. She flexed her palm, glancing down at the tingling mark. "Does it trouble you?" Cassandra asked, stopping their forward momentum.

Philippa shook her head with a frown. Since the veins of magic had receded, it no longer throbbed like her head was, but still it was strange to look down and see it there, pulsing with magic. It was not everyday she came across something she didn't understand. "I just wish I knew anything about it. I'm used to understanding my magic.” No matter how much Cassandra may believe Philippa was chosen by Andraste, she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

“We will find out. What's important is that your mark is now stable, as it the Breach. You've given us time and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed, provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by,” Cassandra said with a reassuring grin. The more time Philippa spent with Cassandra, the more the woman surprised her. She put forth a very gruff attitude, but underneath it, she was apparently more considerate than she wanted anyone to believe.

Philippa crooked a brow and grinned. “So the idea is to supercharge something we barely understand? That will go swimmingly.” Her tone said she was clearly teasing and Cassandra picked right up on it.

“Hold on to that sense of humor,” The warrior smirked, beginning to head towards the open rear door where only hours before they had agreed to rebuild the Inquisition. _I suppose this is the war room now_ , Philippa thought as she followed closely behind. The room didn't look much different. There were a few heraldic additions and three people stood behind the table which had been covered in a map of all southern Thedas, held down with various and sundry items at the corners. One of which was Cassandra's Chantry book in the corner closest to where Leliana stood on Philippa's left. Two of the faces were familiar, but the third was new. “Of course, you know Commander Cullen. Leader of the Inquisition's forces,” Cassandra said, her palm outstretched to indicate him as he stood behind the table directly across from where Philippa had stopped.

He wore the same strange armor he'd been wearing on the field although it had been cleaned up since she'd seen him last and he didn't have the lion helm. He had also tamed his stray bit of hair, but he still looked tired. His lips quirked in his usual lopsided smile, taking away from the bags under his eyes. “I'm pleased you survived,” he said genuinely.

Before she could respond with ' _That makes two of us'_ , Cassandra bullied ahead. “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet. Our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

The new face smiled brightly. In fact, she was all smiles as Philippa took her in, her light brown eyes sparkling. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate and her hair, done up in a very Orlesian style, was black. She wore a heavily ruffled top that flared out from her waist over top of a pair of matching pants and boots like tassets on a rogue's armor. The entire ensemble was dyed blue and gold. She held a stack of papers on a thin piece of wood for support that sported an angled top where a inkwell and candle rested so she could work from just about anywhere. A quill was poised daintily between her fingers on her right hand. “I've heard much,” she said inclining her head, her accent Antivan if Philippa was guessing correctly. “It's a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“And of course you know Sister Leliana.” Cassandra continued.

“My position here involves a degree of...”

Before she could finish, Cassandra finished for her. “She is our spymaster.”

"Yes," Leliana said with a bit of annoyance as she swayed her hips, her hands clasped behind her back. Just like Cullen's relaxed stance, hands on his sword hilt as usual, and Josephine's smile, Leliana's swaying was a compensation it seemed. "Tactfully put, Cassandra."

All of their eyes fell on Philippa and she realized it was finally her turn to speak. “While this is all fascinating, why am I here, exactly?” she asked. She had been a prisoner not long ago, and now she was being introduced to the leadership as if she were integral. She grinned, uncertain how genuine the atmosphere was in the room. Glancing between them all, she saw Leliana trying to hide a small grin of her own. Cullen's eyes were fixed on her and the mark on her hand, but his lips were still quirked upwards. Josephine had busied herself with scribbling frantically on a parchment stacked on top of a pile of others on her clipboard.

Cassandra seemed ready to dive right in to business and she said, “I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.”

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana suggested quickly, drawing a shocked gasp from Philippa who had not expected anyone to want to deal with any more of her kind.

“I still disagree,” Cullen interjected, shaking his head. His fingers were loose on his sword hilt and his stance relaxed, or as relaxed as the Commander could get, Philippa supposed. “The Templars could serve just as well.” Philippa frowned. Templars were trained to suppress magic, not power it up. What was Cullen thinking?

Cassandra sighed and spoke Philippa's thoughts. “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark...”

“Might destroy us all,” he finished before she had a chance. “Templars could suppress the Breach... Weaken it so that...” One of his hands left the sword hilt to gesture strictly before him. Philippa noticed it was shaking mildly before he set it back down.

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interrupted, her hands clasped calmly behind her back, her hips swaying gently as she shifted from one foot to the next.

“ _I_ was a Templar. I know what they're capable of,” Cullen insisted, his voice barely a whisper. Something was going on with Cullen. She had spent years around him, learning his mannerisms. Unfortunately, she was having trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time and the conversation happening around her was more important than Cullen acting strangely.

“Unfortunately neither group will even speak to us yet,” Josephine piped up, using her quill to gesture emphatically. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition and _you_ specifically.” The point of the quill pointed at Philippa.

Philippa rolled her eyes. “Shocking,” she said sarcastically, not surprised in the least after Chancellor Roderick's reaction to her.

“Shouldn't they be busy arguing over who's going to become Divine?” Cullen asked, his shaky hand gesturing again. He seemed personally put off by the denouncement judging by the scowl that twisted his lips. Philippa caught herself watching those lips as he spoke and flushed lightly, turning her attention away. This was hardly the time for her inappropriate crush to rear it's ugly head.

“Some are calling you the Herald of Andraste and that frightens the Chantry,” Josephine said in a bubbly voice. “The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

Philippa's brows rose in shock as her attention snapped back and Cassandra spat, “Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt.”

“It limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question,” Josephine said with finality, punctuating her words with a sharp tap of her quill to the paper.

Philippa held up her marked hand before this got any further. “Just how am _I_ the 'Herald of Andraste'?” she squeaked.

“People saw what you did at the temple. How you stopped the Breach from growing,” Cassandra pointed out. “They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

Philippa balked. “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading...” Leliana began.

“Which we have not,” Cassandra interrupted, drawing another irritated glance from Leliana.

“The point is, everyone is talking about it,” Leliana said with a nod.

“It's quite the title isn't it,” Cullen said drawing her attention back to him and slapping her with his teasing smirk that replaced the scowl of disgust he'd harbored for the clerics. “How do you feel about it?”

Philippa found herself massaging her thumb into the mark on her palm and fidgeting as she glared at him. No one else had deemed it necessary to ask her opinion on the matter. She glanced around the room at the leaders of the Inquisition and almost found herself at a loss for words. “Unsettled,” she said, biting her lip as she stuttered out the words. "It's creepy." She wanted to scream how unfair it was to heap so much pressure on her, but that would be counterproductive. She was a mage and a somniari. She'd been dealing with unfair pressure since she was a child.

Somehow, the Commander's snort of amusement made her feel a bit better. “I'm sure the Chantry would agree.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana explained in her soft voice. “For some, you're that sign.”

“And to others, a symbol of everything that has gone wrong,” Josephine added, not making Philippa feel any better.

“So if I wasn't with the Inquisition...” Philippa began.

“Let's be honest, they would have censured us no matter what,” Cullen reassured her.

“And you _not_ being here isn't an option,” Cassandra added.

“There _is_ something you can do,” Leliana said with a reassuring smile. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“A _Cleric_ wants to help? Why?” Philippa asked skeptically.

“I understand she is a reasonable woman. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters. You will find Mother Giselle tending the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe,” Leliana explained.

Cullen's voice drew her attention to him again. “Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition's influence while you're there,” he suggested.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley and you're better suited than anyone to recruit them,” Josephine agreed.

“In the meantime, let's think of other options. I won't leave this all to the Herald,” Cassandra insisted, pulling some of the weight from Philippa's shoulders.

The sun had set while she met with the leadership and she was hungry again. She headed off toward the tavern, passing the apothecary and a pair of small houses like the one she had woke up in. Leaning against a stone half wall and studying his staff was Solas. The elf had impeccable hearing, looking up to regard her with a haughty grin as she walked by in the darkness. When he spoke, it was with sarcasm. "The chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all."

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her own voice.

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they're extinct... Joke if you will, but posturing is necessary.” He stepped away from her, his hands unclasping from where he'd had them behind his back. He paced a few steps before saying. “I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations.” She moved to stand beside him again as passion entered his voice. “I've watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past and ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” He paused to turn toward her with a small smile on his full lips. “Every great war has it's heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be.”

Philippa was struck dumb. The way Solas was talking, he was like her. She had no idea that there were other dreamers out there, other than herself and Feynril, of course. Especially not apostates. “You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins?” she asked, her mind racing with possibilities. “Isn't that dangerous?”

“I _do_ set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.” From his expression, Philippa was beginning to see why Varric had decided to nickname Solas 'chuckles'.

“I imagine you find some amazing things in there... Alongside all of the demons,” she said nervously finding her hands wringing. She was unsure whether she should let it be known that she was a somniari. That was normally dangerous information for anyone to have.

“Exactly! It is occasionally dangerous, yes. But more often it is just sad to see what has been lost. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” Solas was certainly one of a kind. He glanced back at the Breach. “I will stay then. At least until the Breach has been closed.”

She hummed a single soft chuckle. “Leaving so soon?”

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you, _I_ do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution,” he almost snipped.

“The giant hole in the sky trumps any other concerns,” she said back, her own voice a bit clipped. “Anything else is an afterthought.” If she could close the Breach, perhaps her head might stop pounding.

“Yes. Who can say what this world will look like when we are done fighting for it. For now, let us hope that either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach.” He must have realized how argumentative he had sounded because his voice was much less gruff.

She took her own calming breath. She really couldn't blame him. She was not altogether comfortable with the Templar presence around Haven either, in spite of having grown up in a similar environment. "I will leave you to it," she said and turned away from him.

After grabbing another quick bite to eat, she wandered the village, hunting for the cottage she had woken up in. After finding it, she tried her best to fall asleep, but her mind was racing with everything that had happened to her in the last week. Coupled with the pulsing migraine that refused to leave her be, sleep was not going to come.

She got up from the bed and left the hut, hoping that going for a walk might help to calm her thoughts. The city gates were open, and she slipped through them to wander past the makeshift barracks comprised of red tents outside the walls. She headed toward the lake, but didn't make it far. "Hawke?"

She dropped her hand from where it had been rubbing her brow and turned to grace him with a smile. "Commander, you're up late. Can't sleep?"

As he approached in the nearly pitch black that was illuminated by the moon and a mild green glow that was being emitted by the Breach, his eyes swept over her, taking in the fist she was holding her left hand in, and the pinch of her brow. She attempted to relax her stance, but he had already noticed. "I could ask you the same thing. Is everything all right?"

It was still odd seeing him out of his templar armor, but just then, he wasn't wearing any armor at all, which was even stranger. His gambeson was hidden beneath his cloak that hung a little bit more loosely without the cuirass beneath it, and his boots were not covered with the strapped on bits of plate he had been wearing before. She sighed. "It's nothing... A headache..." she admitted softly.

He continued to stare at her studiously, and then suddenly, his eyes widened. "Maker's breath! What you said before, about Kinloch and why you left..."

She nodded slowly, confirming what he had already guessed. "It's not likely to let up any time soon. At least not until the Breach is sealed anyhow." She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers over the glowing mark. "Motivation for me to act swiftly, I suppose."

"I'm... so sorry, Hawke..." he paused, shuffling his feet and his hand finding the back of his neck.

Before he could awkwardly spout whatever he was trying to properly word in his head while he fidgeted, she shrugged and plastered on a smile. "I've apparently been sleeping for a week, so I'd say it's time for a sleepless night or two. There's a lot I can't remember, so I'm going to see if I can't jog some of that loose."

He nodded curtly, his lips pressed together. Then he seemed to suddenly remember something. "I actually have something for you," he said, tipping his head toward the collection of tents where he was apparently sleeping.

"For me, Commander? You shouldn't have," she joked as she followed him back to one of the larger tents.

He dipped inside, holding the flap open for her. Once she stepped in, he let go of the canvas and she got a good look around as he moved toward the rear of the wide open space to grab something. He had his own smaller version of the war table in the Chantry atop a table that was also laden on one side with piles of parchments. The opposite side of the entrance was where he kept his armor, mounted on an armor stand, his sword and shield on a weapon's stand beside it. The tent smelled mildly of leather, faintly of templar, and mostly of the pomade that Cullen used on his hair. She didn't know the exact ingredients, but she could pinpoint beeswax, honeysuckle, and citrus as she stood in the space concentrated in it. In the back of the tent there was a blocked off section where he slept, the bed peeking out around the section of canvas. The rest of the large tent was empty of personalizations.

He came back out from the hidden section and in his hands was her staff. She gasped as he held it out to her. "After I found out you were alive, and things died down, I went to the Temple and tracked this down. I thought you might appreciate something familiar."

She took the staff from his hands and the thrum of magic that she was used to vibrated up her arms. She hummed in appreciation. "Hello, old friend..." She smiled, genuinely this time, and glanced away from the dimly glowing runes. "Thank you, Commander. This... it means a lot."

His smile echoed hers. "You're welcome."

She snorted and shooed him. "Now go to bed, Commander. There's no need to worry about me."

He rolled his eyes and let out his own snort. "Yes, _mother_."

With a small wave goodnight, she backed from his tent, her staff still in her hands and headed back toward the village and her own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the most difficult part of this journey is giving Philippa her own voice around the carefully written dialogue of the Inquisition story and gauging the reactions of the people around her. I hope everyone is still enjoying it as I move forward in the story.


	23. Sleepless in Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa sets out with a small party, trying to find a way to get herself the support she'll need to fix the hole in the sky.

Philippa scoured the Fade as often as she could force herself into dreams. The work was slow with the impressive demonic presence that flocked to her and her new mark. The mark seemed to amplify her power in the Fade, her conscious dreams gaining a focus she had never been capable of before. It helped in chasing away the demons that tried to prey on her, but it was no help in figuring out exactly what had happened and where her memories had disappeared to. The Breach had chased off any helpful spirits that might have been in the area.

Cassandra had dragged her from bed the morning after Cullen had returned her staff, and insisted they leave that same day for the Hinterlands. Philippa was exhausted after only managing to get a brief couple hours of sleep that had been interrupted by demons at every turn. She was glad that she didn't have much to actually plan or think about. Cassandra had wobbly looking horses that had been loaded down with supplies, and Philippa merely needed to dress and pick up her staff to be ready to go.

The first week of riding was a learning curve. Philippa had never ridden a horse in her life. Cassandra spent the first three days riding ahead of her, Varric and Solas before turning with a noise of disgust escaping her lips to bark tips on how to ride. Her exhaustion did not help with keeping her seat. If she did not maintain a nearly constant conversation, the rolling of the horses' gait would almost send her to sleep, her head lolling to her chest. Ridiculously enough, when they bedded down for the night, her headache and her nightmares kept her from getting much rest, and she was easily awake for several hours after they settled down.

When they finally reached the Hinterlands after about a week, there was already an established Inquisition camp on a cliff overlooking the minuscule village named the Crossroads. A few scouts ambled around the camp and one approached them with a wide grin. She was perky and freckled, with light brown hair, and friendly pale green eyes. The dwarf spoke casually but clearly. She was all smiles and stepped around everyone present to speak first and foremost to Philippa. “Herald of Andraste! I've heard the stories... Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach. Everyone's a little nervous around mages right now, but you'll get no back talk here. That's a promise. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I... all of us here will do whatever we can to help.”

“Harding, huh?” Varric asked, a devious smirk on his face. “Ever been to Kirkwall's Hightown?”

Harding cocked her head towards Varric, a frown on her face. “I can't say I have, why?”

“You'd be Harding in...” Varric paused as Cassandra glared at him while he referenced his most popular serial novel, Hard in Hightown. “Oh, never mind.” Philippa caught the joke, smirking as she turned her head from Cassandra's view.

A disgusted noise rose from Cassandra as it did most often when Varric opened his mouth. Philippa grinned and turned to Harding. “I'm starting to worry about these stories that everyone's heard,” she said as Harding began to smile again.

“Oh, there's nothing to worry about. They only say you're the last great hope for Thedas.” Harding said with a devious gleam in her eye.

“Oh, wonderful,” Philippa rolled her eyes and Harding snorted softly before regaining herself.

“The Hinterlands are as good a place as any to start... 'fixing' things. We came to secure horses from Redcliffe's old horsemaster. I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet's herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks, but with the mage/templar fighting getting worse, we couldn't get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he's even still alive. Mother Giselle's at the Crossroads, helping the refugees and wounded. Our latest reports say that the war's spread there too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won't be able to hold out very long. You'd best get going. No time to lose.” Harding's report was concise and a bit emotional.

If the war was happening below at the Crossroads, they needed to get down there and make sure that Mother Giselle was safe. She thanked Harding and her small group headed down around the path off the cliff to the Crossroads where Mother Giselle awaited her. When they reached the perimeter of the small village, Cassandra called out from behind her and sprinted ahead. “Inquisition forces they're trying to protect the people!” Solas sprinted past her much like Cassandra had and began to sling spells like he was fighting demons. But these were no demons. A fight had broken out in the village between a few small factions of mages and templars, indiscriminately fighting anyone in sight. It was chaos. Both Cassandra and Solas attempted to shout the fighters into submission, but after almost being hit by two fireballs and nearly stepping on an ice mine, Philippa dodged the swipe of a templar's sword and started to fight back. The only other templars Philippa had ever fought were the ones in Kirkwall that had blindly followed Meredith's annulment order. She did her best to maintain the same less than deadly force she had used in the courtyard, but just knocking these enemies back was not going to stop them. She tried aiming low to knock back or stun some of them, but the typical move was useless against templars because of the slight dip in their shields that helped prevent splash damage from spells aimed toward the ground in front of them. She noted the stance on every shielded enemy. She switched, regrettably, to a more deadly tactic.

As a mage realized she was fighting against them as hard as she was fighting the templars, he charged at her, his staff swinging wildly. It whirled in the air, sparks of lightning arching down the shaft. She dispelled his barrier, taking away his protection and then immediately followed with a mana drain. The lightning died and he faltered as she siphoned his mana. She touched the head of her staff to his chest. "Can't you bloody see we're here to help?" she shouted angrily.

The mage faltered, but from her periphery, Philippa watched Cassandra slice another mage diagonally from shoulder to hip. The mage she had stopped in front of her saw the act as well and raged. He swung his staff upwards to knock hers from his chest. Then he twirled it with ferocity, aiming for her head. She blocked with her own staff, and used his own mana to power the force spell to knock him back. She could see in his eyes that there was never going to be a way through to him, so she flinched and in a split second cast an immolate spell at his feet. It burst and the flames spouted under him, enveloping him in a wreath of fire. She backed away as his charred body fell towards her. She had killed before in defense of herself and her family, but this felt different. There was a desperation in the air, exacerbated by the Breach and the absolute fail that was the Conclave. Philippa could see now, why the Inquisition was a necessary thing. Someone needed to fix this madness. If she could, she would do her best, and perhaps find some answers along the way.

Varric approached her as the fighting died, and several Inquisition soldiers that had been fighting to bring order to the Crossroads swept in to clean up and tend the wounded. "You doing all right, Charmer?" She leaned on her staff and nodded. He patted her elbow and moved off to join Cassandra as she had words with some of the soldiers.

Cots dotted the property, most full of the injured and dying. Philippa was tempted to lend her own assistance, but she saw soldiers shying away from the few mages who were there trying to help. A middle aged woman in cleric's robes knelt beside the cot of one such soldier and soothed his fears. “Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.”

Philippa felt a small sprout of hope that at least someone in the Chantry was not looking at all mages like they were a plague on humanity. She approached slowly and softened her voice. "Mother Giselle?" she confirmed as the woman stood from her crouch when the man calmed down. She was dark skinned beneath her white and red robes, her matching hat concealing her hair. Her lips were large and protruded outwards. The expression behind her brown eyes was kind but closed off. It seemed to be a common expression among the clerics she had come into contact with over the years.

"I am. And you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste," Giselle responded in her very thick Orlesian accent.

“I wouldn't exactly say that myself,” Philippa said as she secured her staff to her back and wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself.

Mother Giselle smiled briefly. “We seldom have much say in our fate, I'm sad to say.”

“So you think they're right?” Philippa asked in surprise, hoping she was reading the Mother incorrectly. She was barely accepting the fact that she was forced to back up the probable lie. She was not prepared to speak with anyone who actually believed it.

“I don't presume to know the Maker's intentions... for any of us. But I did not ask you to come, simply to debate with me.” Mother Giselle explained, piquing her interest.

“Then why _am_ I here?” Philippa asked in exasperation.

“I know of the Chantry's denouncement and I am familiar with those behind it,” she said leading her towards a small house nearby. “I won't lie to you. Some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified.” She paused, stretching out a hand to stop Philippa as well. She turned to face her. “So many good people... Senselessly taken from us.”

“I'm pretty sure the horror of the Conclave is on my list of top worst things I've seen,” Philippa agreed with a shudder, remembering the burned husks of people in the temple.

“Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason,” Mother Giselle said with another warm smile. Philippa turned her gaze on the village as people cleaned up after the battle. “Go to them. Convince the remaining Clerics that you are no demon to be feared.” Philippa lifted her hand and clenched her fist that had minutes ago been responsible for burning a man to death with magic. How could she convince anyone she was not to be feared? She had been feared by people since the day she had thrown Leon across Lothering's courtyard. “They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

“That won't just make it worse?” Philippa asked, giving voice to her fears.

“Because you are a mage?” Mother Giselle asked insightfully.

“Among other things,” she agreed, rubbing her palms together and dropping her hands to her sides again.

“Let me put it this way,” Mother Giselle began. “You needn't convince them all. You just need some of them to _doubt_. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you receive the time you need.”

Philippa was less than convinced. “Exactly how is that going to work? I flap my hand in their faces and say 'look at me I'm divinely touched'...?”

“I honestly don't know if you've been touched by fate or sent to help us, but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us... or destroy us.” Mother Giselle paused to allow her words to sink in, her piercing eyes studying Philippa. “I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.” With her piece spoken, Mother Giselle turned away and went down the stairs back toward the middle of the village where there were more injured and dead to attend to. Philippa had a lot to think about, but there was also much to do. As the others slowly approached her, she sighed and hugged herself.

The Hinterlands were a mess. After talking with the Inquisition soldier coordinating efforts in the area, Corporal Vale, they were informed that both the mages and the templars had hidden strongholds in unknown places off the beaten path. The people residing at the Crossroads were in dire need of help. With everything happening and all of the violence in the places between villages, they were without a lot of supplies and food for basic survival. The horse master that Harding had mentioned was cut off from the Crossroads by miles of dangerous road. Along with the mages and templars that continuously sprung up little battles along the King's road and in the woods, there was the odd demon or two that slithered from the rifts cracking open all over the area.

Philippa took the reports and mentally mapped out her issues in a large circle surrounding the Crossroads. With small tidbits of information she found on the bodies of some of the slain mages and templars, they were able to find where each group was hiding. The mages had taken over a cave in the woods, aptly named Witchwood, close to Redcliffe village. The templars were camped much farther south on the other side of the King's Road by a waterfall that trickled into a narrow river. Once they had both been dealt with, Philippa took the time to hunt down some rams, throwing lightning bolts to kill them, and delivered the meat to the Crossroads. She also found hidden caches of supplies like blankets and coats that were much needed for the cold of the approaching winter. Redcliffe itself was closed off, but to the west, they discovered Master Dennet holding the farm lands together. He promised them horses if she would help take care of some issues and seal the rifts between him and Haven. A few dead demons later and a letter to Cullen asking him to send workers to build watchtowers that would help protect the farmers, she left with some horses for her small party as well as a promise of more on the way with Dennet himself in a few weeks time.

Fixing some of the menial issues surrounding the Hinterlands, and establishing a larger presence for the Inquisition made Philippa feel a bit more useful than she had been feeling lately. In spite of her mark, the lack of proper rest, and the constant migraines she was dealing with had her feeling like she had stepped out of her body and was running on automatic, her brain shut down. If she had judged Solas correctly, and he was a dreamer, like herself, she wondered how he was dealing so fluidly with the demonic presence. They didn't seem to bother him in the least. Was it because he was elven? Feynril was half elf, and he had not seemed to be any better equipped to handle demons than she was. Another mystery on her plate to ponder. Now they needed to get back to Haven and decide exactly who should be going to the capitol.

Mother Giselle had put forth Philippa as the most worthy candidate. The mage in question stood in the War Room, her mouth agape as Josephine cocked her hip and said, “Having the Herald address the Clerics is _not_ a terrible idea.” Her face was beaming with a sparkling smile even as everyone's eyes fell on her in shock.

A snort rose from across the table. “You can't be serious!” Cullen objected. Philippa wasn't certain if he was objecting because he was concerned for her, or because he thought allowing her to speak for the Inquisition was a bad idea. Cullen had become nearly impossible to read, something off in his mannerisms. She narrowed her eyes as she studied him, his usual stance with both hands resting on his sword hilt irritated her. How could he be so calm? Her time on the road had both frazzled her nerves and given her new perspective on who she was. She was ready to step up and do what needed to be done, but she wasn't certain if personally showing up in Val Royeaux was a good idea. The Commander was right.

“Mother Giselle isn't wrong,” Josie continued. “At the moment, the Chantry's only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

As she spoke, Cullen shifted his weight and his right hand found the back of his neck as he shook his head. There were his nerves. He wasn't as calm as he was letting on. “And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” Leliana asked, swaying her hips back and forth as she did, her hands behind her back. Philippa marked the spymaster's nervous tick. She'd gotten to know Cass, Varric and Solas on the road as best she could. The others were a different story. Leliana was a bit more personable than Cullen had been in his replies to the reports she'd sent at Cassandra's insistence, but she was beginning to see where Carver was coming from when he'd said that Leliana scared him. The woman could smile in your face while stabbing you in the back, of that Philippa had no doubt. She had not had much contact with Josie so far and she intended to amend that soon. In the meantime, she studied Cullen's rigid spine as he paced a small circle in his place, Josie's calculating stare as she also analyzed those around her, Leliana's feigned aloofness. Everything was a clue to the people around her.

“Let's ask her,” Josie suggested and all eyes fell on Philippa. Even Cullen paused his pacing to stare.

“You don't really believe that just sending me to wave this bloody mark in their faces is going to solve anything, do you?” Philippa said gruffly with a mild chuckle to hide that she had been staring at Cullen.

“I agree,” Cullen said loudly. “It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says.” His voice was laced with spite.

“I will go with her,” Cassandra let her voice be heard. “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names. Use them.” The last was directed to Leliana. Cassandra knew as well as Philippa that Leliana had squirreled that information away long before they'd returned.

"But why?" Leliana asked with a frown. "This is nothing but a..."

As usual, Cassandra cut off her words. It seemed the right hand of the Divine was used to overpowering the left. "What choice do we have, Leliana? Right now we can't approach anyone for help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through."

Everyone glanced nervously at each other, but it seemed they agreed with Cassandra. It was decided that after a few days rest, they would be setting out yet again, this time in the direction of Val Royeaux, where Philippa would apparently dazzle the Clerics. With what exactly she was not certain, but hopefully when they arrived and the mood of the Clerics was assessed, she would think of something. In the meantime, she followed Cassandra from the war room and made her way toward her cabin. Sleeping in a bed was going to be a welcome change to the bedrolls of the last three weeks. If she could sleep that was.

After trying her hardest to get at least a few hours' nap, Philippa gave up and left the cabin to seek out the people she hadn't really had a chance to mingle with. She headed for the Chantry, intending to find Josephine in the little office she had set up right beside the war room, but a gentle voice, lowered in prayer caught her attention. In one of the larger tents outside the Chantry, Leliana was kneeling, her hands clasped before her and her head lowered. Philippa dipped out of sight, not wishing to be rude. _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written._ Leliana paused her prayers, making Philippa frown on the other side of the canvas of the tent. "Is that what You want from us? Blood? To die so that Your will is done? Is death Your only blessing?" There was a sigh and then suddenly without noise, Leliana was standing beside her. "You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all of this? What's His game?"

Philippa looked the spymaster in the eye. Leliana had known she was there all along. Clever. "His game?"

Leliana pointed upwards. "Do you see the sky? What about the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust? Even if you didn't support the Divine's peace, you wouldn't call this right. Who could?" Her voice lowered with her pointing finger. "So many innocent lives... the faithful murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?"

Philippa felt her answer falling from her lips. It was inadequate and she regretted it even as she blurted it out. Leliana looked near a breakdown, her light blue eyes glistening. "You're asking me? I'm not even convinced I'm an Andrastian."

Leliana sighed. "Then we can only guess at what _He_ wants." Philippa shuddered and they went back inside the tent to get away from the chilly afternoon air. "The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all. Our lives. Our deaths. Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!"

Philippa reached out and set a comforting hand on Leliana's forearm. Most of the people in Haven were terrified beyond reason of Leliana. Being a mage that was shunned more often than accepted, she knew that even as scary as she could be, Leliana was just a person with fears and feelings. "Um, maybe you should be angry at the people who murdered her."

Allowing the physical contact, Leliana continued. "If the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?" She sighed as she pulled away and Philippa cringed at the harsh words. "I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she's dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing."

Philippa felt ill equipped to advise Leliana. She was far from a cleric, probably as far as you could get. "I'm not really the best person to talk to," she admitted. "Doesn't the Chantry have people for this?"

Leliana turned a soft smile on her and chuckled sweetly. "So I should let a priest comfort me? No, this is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again. Come. To work, then. We will speak later."

Feeling dismissed, Philippa nodded and left the tent. She was preoccupied and tired and only drawn from her thoughts by shouts of anger ahead. Two separate groups had formed in front of the Chantry and were arguing back and forth. “Your kind killed the Most Holy!” A man in templar plate shouted, his stance threatening as he leaned toward the man opposite him who was dressed in mage robes.

“Lies! Your kind let her die!” The mage retorted angrily his grip on the staff in his hand tightening.

The templar's hand went to his sword and Philippa jerked toward the fray, drawing on her own magic in case she needed to step in. “Shut your mouth, _mage!_ ” The man spat, his sword halfway from its scabbard.

Before she could reach them, Cullen appeared like smoke, stepping between the two men. She flinched and paused, a distinct jolt of fear wrenching her gut as Cullen set himself in harm's way. “Enough!” he shouted, his arms outstretched to keep the men apart.

“Knight Captain,” the templar gasped, backing up a few steps.

Philippa breathed a sigh of relief as the man's hand left his sword. Cullen's head snapped to the Templar and his top lip curled back in disgust. “That is _not_ my title!” he growled. Why was he so angry with the Order? “We are _not_ templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition.” He emphasized _all_ , indicating the mages as well by turning to glance at them. As he lectured, his arms dropped slightly but he used each to point scoldingly at each of the aggressors in turn.

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Chancellor Roderick's voice rose among the cacophony as he approached Cullen. His hands were behind his back and he strutted much like a Peacock showing it's feathers. He believed he held all of the cards. He was likely responsible for inciting the almost riot.

Cullen's sneer turned on him. “Back already, Chancellor? Haven't you done enough?”

Philippa silently agreed as she slowly approached. The Chancellor was trouble. “I'm curious, Commander,” the Chancellor lifted his arms to draw more attention to himself. “As to how your Inquisition and it's 'Herald' will restore order as you've promised.”

“Of course you are,” Cullen said with a sigh, his voice so low she barely caught his words at the distance she was standing. His back straightened slightly and his voice rang out loudly again. “Back to your duties! All of you!” The crowd began to disperse and Cullen took up a position in front of the Chantry's doors, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down the Chancellor who refused to leave. Philippa steeled herself and decided to lend him a hand. She strolled over towards the two men with purpose, her back straight and her gait stiff. Cullen took note of her approach, his amber eyes momentarily flicking to her and a warm smile flashed over his features quickly before the Chancellor could see it. “Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they're blaming each other for the Divine's death,” he said to her by way of explanation.

“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order,” Roderick insisted, interrupting before she could respond.

“Who, you?” Cullen asked, a chuckle under his words. “Random clerics who weren't important enough to be at the Conclave?”

“The rebel Inquisition and it's so-called 'Herald of Andraste'?” Roderick retorted. “I think not!”

“I don't know. The Inquisition seems about as functional as any young family,” Philippa mocked, her voice laced with the same underlying chuckle as Cullen's had been.

“How many family's are on the verge of splitting into open warfare with themselves?” Roderick proclaimed, a hint of pleading in his voice.

Cullen openly snorted out a chuckle. “Yes. Because that would _never_ happen to the Chantry.”

“Centuries of tradition will guide us!” Roderick insisted. “We are not the upstart, eager to turn over every apple cart.”

“Remind me why you're allowing the Chancellor to stay?” Philippa turned her eyes on Cullen and his gaze reluctantly turned sour. She knew then that it was not Cullen's choice.

“Clearly, your _templar_ knows where to draw the line,” Roderick said in victory.

“He's toothless,” Cullen spat, turning the sour look on Roderick. “No point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.” He looked back at her, his gaze softening. “The Chancellor's a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

Philippa was curious about what she had witnessed, so ignoring the Chancellor, she asked Cullen. “The mages and Templars are fighting even though we haven't the faintest idea what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“Exactly why all of this should be left to a new Divine.” Roderick interrupted as Cullen opened his mouth to speak. She watched the Commander's lips press together in a firm line as he closed his eyes, likely to pray for patience as he normally did when she used to burst into his office unannounced. “If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so.”

“Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat,” Cullen growled.

“You think nobody cares about the truth?” Roderick asked defensively. “We _all_ grieve Justinia's loss.”

“But you won't grieve if the Herald of Andraste is conveniently swept under a carpet,” Cullen remarked making Philippa flinch. Every time someone used the title, it made her stomach flip flop. She certainly didn't feel chosen by Andraste. Cullen knew better, but he had to keep up appearances for the Chancellor. His quick glance of apology told her so.

Philippa allowed her distaste to show, directing her mocking tone at Roderick. "Well, let's hope we find solutions, and not a cathedral full of chancellors." Then, she patted Cullen's shoulder amiably before taking a step away to pick up her original intention of heading inside.

Cullen commented dryly, "The stuff of nightmares."

Philippa hid her chuckle as Roderick grunted. "Mock if you will. I'm certain the Maker is less amused."

Her conversation with Josephine was not what she had been expecting. She found the ambassador politely telling the apparent owner of Haven that they would be staying whether he liked it or not. Philippa's presence had helped to rid Josephine of the man, and their short talk afterwards ended before Philippa could really learn anything about Josephine personally. She trudged back out into the slowly darkening village. Cullen and the Chancellor had dispersed, and Philippa found herself wandering down towards the barracks in hopes of catching Cullen when he wasn't otherwise occupied. She huddled her neck down inside the warm scarf of the new gear she had received from the blacksmith, and hugged her own waist. Maker, Haven was cold. It was a shock after the warmth of the Hinterlands. She made her way down towards the stables to see if the mounts that Dennet had promised had arrived yet. Seeing only her own dappled Forder, the other two brown mares and Varric's pony in the stables, she sighed and wandered off towards the makeshift barracks to the left of the village walls. The collection of tents was surrounded by recruits doing drills. She watched for a moment, not seeing Cullen, before a frustrated cry caught her ears. She glanced towards the practice dummies to see Cassandra hacking away violently at one in the middle. The dummy sagged pathetically in the wake of the onslaught, yet Cassandra did not let up. Philippa smiled and clasped her hands behind her back before approaching the fiery Seeker. “I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff.”

Cassandra grunted as she glanced at Philippa, but she still swung her sword as she said, “That would be nice.”

The next swing she took pierced the fabric of the dummy's gut and straw poured from its innards. “Like maybe iron,” Philippa quipped with a smirk.

Cassandra paused and her arms fell to her sides, her right hand barely gripping her blade. “Did I do the right thing?” She shuffled to the next dummy. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life.” She began hacking at the dummy, more slowly this time, pausing every few swings to adjust her stance and roll her shoulders. “One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool... And they may be right.”

Philippa knew how much the Maker and His plan meant to Cassandra, so she rubbed her palm on her leg as it tingled. “You don't really believe that, do you?” She asked cautiously. She was beginning to believe she was likely the only person in Haven that wasn't in the least bit religious.

“I believe you are innocent. I believe more is going on here than we can see, _and_ I believe that no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot... But is this the Maker's will? I can only guess.”

“What's going to happen now?” Philippa asked.

“Now, we deal with the Chantry's panic over you before they do even more harm.” She huffed in frustration before continuing. “Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can. After that we find out who is responsible for this chaos and we end them... And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

It was a very full plate, but Philippa was used to a full plate. You simply needed to break down the situation and tackle each problem one at a time. It was the only way to keep from going mad. “We've already come this far, why worry about it now?” she asked, trying to bring a little relief from the seriousness of their conversation.

“We have only just begun,” Cassandra sighed, refusing to let Philippa's words humor her. She took a few more angry swings at the dummy before throwing the sword to the ground at her feet. “My trainers always told me 'Cassandra, you're too brash. You must think before you act'. I see what must be done and I do it. I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing it's tail, but I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Philippa could see where Cassandra was coming from. If everything blew up, it was going to be directly in the Seeker's face. “I was the obvious suspect. I fell out of the Fade at your feet, the only survivor. You knew my history,” Philippa said with a shrug.

A small smile flashed over Cassandra's features before it was snuffed. “I was determined to have someone answer for what happened... Anyone...” Cassandra began to walk off, but she paused and her body twisted so she was looking back at Philippa. “You have said you _don't_ believe you are chosen. Does that mean you also don't believe in the Maker?” Her tone was almost pitying.

Philippa flinched at having the question asked directly. "I can't really say," she admitted truthfully.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now," Cassandra said with an almost sad sigh. " _I_ have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us."

Her search for Cullen remained fruitless, and she went back to her cabin again. Stripping to her smalls, she slipped between the sheets and closed her eyes, begging the Fade to just let her rest.

Blessed sleep. Philippa managed a good five hours that night before she woke in a cold sweat having just fought off a demon of desire that had come to her with Cullen's face. She was so exhausted that it was getting difficult for her to suss out reality from dreams, and she had needed a good pinch to the arm for her to realize that Cullen would never have been saying the things to her that the demon had suggested. Feeling slightly better after the stretch of sleep, she rose, pulled on some warm clothes and left the cabin to wander Haven. She was beginning to realize she missed those nights from Kinloch where she and Anders would wander the halls, discovering secrets about the keep. She should have been used to the lack of sleep. It was the constant headache that had her out of whack. She rubbed at her forehead as she wandered, paying absolutely no attention to where she was going. Suddenly, she collided quite thoroughly with another human being. “Maker, I'm sorry,” she apologized, a flush coming to her cheeks as she glanced up to see who she had stumbled into.

“No, it was my fault. I should have been watching where...” He stopped mid sentence as he realized who he was speaking to. “Hawke, apologies.” His hand lifted to rub the back of his neck, the other full of papers. He looked absolutely adorable as he shuffled his feet sheepishly.

She was glad that the darkness around them could hide the burn of color in her cheeks as she thought about the things the demon had said to her in his voice. She cleared her throat. "Maker's breath, Commander. What time is it? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

He chuckled. "You're not going to send me off to bed again like a child, are you?" The papers in his hand caught the wind as he turned his body and he cursed as a few of them took off across the area toward the smithy. Philippa threw up her hands, a magical barrier at the tip of her awareness that she automatically called down around the blowing parchments. They stopped in the dead air inside her barrier, slapping into the side before fluttering to the ground. She casually headed toward the barrier, crossing inside her own magic to gather the papers. As she knelt, her head swam and she wavered slightly. Hoping he hadn't seen, she quickly snatched up the papers and stood. Once she had them all, she hugged them to her chest and released the magic holding the barrier in place. She turned and glanced at him sheepishly before starting back toward him. He met her halfway and she carefully held tight to the papers as she passed them back to him. “Uh, thanks,” he said, his fingers brushing hers as he secured the papers. Her heart flipped and she swallowed. "Are... How are your headaches?" he asked gently, evasively pointing out that he had indeed seen her falter.

She shrugged and forced a chuckle. "Debilitating... On the bright side I was able to catch..." she counted silently on her fingers. "About twelve hours of sleep this week. A new record."

He studied her without a word. She was used to his stoic attitude when he was considering things, so she patiently waited for him to speak, absently rubbing her thumb over the mark in her palm. "Do you play chess?" he asked finally.

"What?" she asked, abruptly, not expecting that question at all.

He tipped his head toward where she knew his tent stood. "I've found that a good night's sleep comes much easier if you can occupy your mind with something both monotonous and unimportant before going to bed. It helps push away some of the things your mind might be focusing on."

He stepped into his tent, holding the flap open for her as he had the last time. The same fire pit in the middle of the floor burned warmly, chasing away the cold of Haven's streets. A new, small square table with two chairs sat on the opposite side of the back of the tent from his bed. Atop it was a chess board that looked to be mid game. "Your partner won't mind if we reset the board?" she asked.

He snorted. "I've been playing myself. No one else seems to be up when I am in the midnight hours."

"As it happens, I know the feeling, Commander," she admitted. "I used to be up as a child all of the time. My nightmares kept me awake. Once I learned to harness my powers, I was able to chase away the worst of the nightmares..." She stepped toward the chess table and picked up the black queen. "Now they're all back and I need to learn all over again how to handle them." She placed the queen in it's starter position and turned to smile at him, wiping away all of the concern that had slipped into her tone. Keeping up appearances around those that controlled her fate was necessary. Even if it was just Cullen. "But I'm a big girl." She moved to sit behind the black pieces. "Prepare the board..."

Cullen, as it turned out, was very good at chess, and his idea was surprisingly helpful. After their game, she went back to her bed and managed a few more hours of sleep. Philippa caught herself wandering the village more often than not in the next few days as ravens flew back and forth from Val Royeaux, arranging their meeting. On one such particular wandering, she passed by Threnn to inquire how the supply chains were coming along and instead overheard Leliana's soft accent. “So it's true. Butler has turned on us. I'd hoped my hunch was wrong.”

Philippa entered the tent, curiously listening in. She took a relaxed stance, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned on one of the tent's support beams. “You knew him well?” the scout that Leliana was talking to asked conversationally.

“Not as well as I thought. Show me the reports.” Leliana took a few papers from the scout and scanned them with her pale blue eyes. Philippa noticed that a few red hairs had escaped her hood to fall over her eyes as she leaned over the table. “There were so many questions surrounding Farrier's death. Did he think we wouldn't notice?” She said with a sigh as she absorbed the information before her. “He's killed Farrier. One of my best agents and knows where the others are.” Philippa saw her shoulders hunch and her head droop. “You know what must be done. Make it clean... Painless if you can. We were friends once.”

“Wait!” Philippa pushed away from the tent pole. “What are you doing?”

“He betrayed us! He murdered my agent!” Leliana explained, turning to face her.

“That makes him worthy of death?” Philippa argued with a slight frown.

“You find fault with my decision?” Leliana barked, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“I'm sure most of your decisions are fine, but that one, a little extreme,” she pointed out, her voice rising slightly.

“Extreme?! Butler's betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens. I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.” The blurted confession was exactly what Philippa had been fishing for. Leliana had not struck her as a bad person. She was simply in a crisis, much like most of the members of the Inquisition.

Philippa smiled tenderly. “Doing bad things usually makes you feel bad. If you don't like this...” Her tone was teasing and she shrugged as she prayed her words got through.

She watched as Leliana balked. The spymaster turned back to the table and leaned heavily on the wooden surface. “That is certainly one way to put it.” After a moment, she sighed heavily then said, “Very well. I will think of another way to deal with this man.” Her attention fell back on the scout who was fidgeting nervously and awaiting orders. “Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives.” The scout bowed and nearly ran as he moved to escape the tension in the tent. Philippa sighed as well, glad she had made Leliana see her error. “Now if you're happy, I have more work to do.”

Philippa hadn't seen Carver in weeks, and when he didn't return while she was awaiting the preparations to head to Val Royeaux, she decided to ask Cullen if he knew where her brother was. Cullen assured her that Carver was off on assignment for him and had officially joined the Inquisition as well. He hadn't needed training like most of the other recruits, so he was trusted to field work.

It took nearly a week on their horses, but they were finally riding up on Val Royeaux. Philippa had never been to the capitol city and she was admittedly awed. Brightly colored spires lined the cobblestone path that entered the Market Square. Everywhere you looked, there were statues and art and ribbons of all colors. The city was vibrant and Philippa dismounted her horse slowly as her eyes attempted to drink in all of the sights. Varric wandered up beside her as she made eye contact with a woman who was passing by. The woman took in her appearance and the Inquisition trappings on her mount then gasped and scurried quickly away. “Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” she said scornfully, his name coming from her mouth like she was spitting poison.

Philippa glanced between the two of them. Since leaving Haven, their relationship had become even more strained than it had been before. Philippa handed her horse's reins to the stable hand that approached with a small grin and followed after Cassandra. They walked a little more briskly than Philippa would have liked. She wanted to take in some of the culture of the city. Almost as soon as they passed through the ornate iron gates of the city, one of Leliana's agents approached them at a jog. She dropped to one knee in a bow in front of Philippa. “My Lady Herald.” Philippa waved her hand at the bow as Cassandra questioned the scout on the state of things. “The Chantry Mothers await you,” the woman reported. “But, so do a great many Templars.”

Philippa's heart sank. What were the Templars doing here? “There are Templars here?” Cassandra asked with almost as much shock as Philippa felt.

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them from... from the Inquisition,” the scout fumbled as she lowered her eyes. “They're gathering on the other side of the market. I think that's where the Templars intend to meet you.”

“They wish to protect the people from _us_?” Cassandra mused as they headed further into the city.

“From the blasphemous 'Herald of Andraste', I'd say,” Philippa mumbled.

“You think the Order's returned to the fold maybe? To deal with us upstarts?” Varric asked.

“I know Lord Seeker Lucius. I can't imagine him coming to the Chantry's defense. Not after all that's occurred,” Cassandra insisted. She turned to the scout who was obediently following them. “Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are... delayed.”

“As you say, My Lady.” The scout left them, melting into the city.

Philippa immediately noticed the large collection of people on the opposite side of the market just as the scout had reported. Cassandra hurried her forward, nearly grabbing her arm to tug her along like a disobedient child. Philippa watched as Solas and Varric hung back, their eyes scanning the crowd. Varric's hand kept twitching toward his crossbow, but Solas was calm and calculating, reminding her of a sleeping Dragon.

There was a collection of Chantry folk and some Templars standing on a quickly erected stage that was blocking entry to a small dock. Philippa paused as the middle aged woman at the head of the pack spoke, her voice commanding silence. “Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” Her accent was heavily Orlesian, revealing her as a local. It made more sense why many of the passers-by were stopping to listen to her words. “Together, we mourn our Divine! Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more... Behold! The so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell!” Philippa felt the eyes that fell on her, each one boring holes into her flesh. “We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no _mage_ in our hour of need!” And there it was. The whole reason they were here. Philippa scowled at the blatant prejudice coming from a supposed servant of the Maker.

“Yes, I am a mage!” Philippa stepped boldly forward, her fists clenched. “But the Breach in the sky is my only concern! I want it gone as much as the rest of you, but I can't do it alone!”

“It's true!” Cassandra said, stepping up by her side. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

“It is already too late,” the Mother hissed, her left arm rising to point past the crowd. Philippa followed the gesture and her eyes landed on a group of Templars marching toward them, two by two, led by a seasoned warrior with gray hair and a weathered face. His expression told of a great distaste at being where he was. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this 'Inquisition' and the people will be safe once more.” He completely ignored the squawking Mother as he mounted the dais and passed her by. Philippa's breath caught in her chest as the distinct scent of demon poured from the man and set her head pounding anew. One of the Templars following him lifted his hand draped in a gauntlet and struck the woman in the back of the head.

She cried out, falling to the ground and Philippa felt herself take another step forward, this time in anger. “Still yourself.” the leader said, his voice sliding out with zero inflection. He patted the arm of one of the lower ranking Templars who looked as shocked as Philippa was. “She is beneath us.”

“What in the Void are you doing?!” Philippa growled, drawing more attention back to her. She was inches away from calling her magic and slamming the bastard with a fist of the Maker spell and watching him flatten under her power. How did so many templars not know that their leader was a demon? She didn't dare say a word with so many eyes on her. The worst part of it was, this was no possession. This was a flesh and blood shape-changing demon.

“Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own,” the man said, the full ire of his gaze falling on her. His eyes probed her momentarily with a great curiosity which she saw him physically quash so he could stroll off the dais. He knew what she was. He could probably sense it like she could sense him.

Cassandra quickly moved to intercept him. “Lord Seeker Lucius. It is imperative that we speak with....”

“You will _not_ address me,” he barked, his voice still lacking anything but a great boredness with it all.

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra gasped in shock as Philippa took up a position behind her.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste's prophet... You should be ashamed.” The monotone continued. “You should _all_ be ashamed. The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. You are the ones who have failed. You who'd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine_.”

Philippa studied the man, searching for anything that might help indicate he was not himself. Cassandra was certainly agitated. Cullen came to mind and she reached out to the assembled templars, stepping level with Cassandra and pitched her voice higher. “Templars! One of your own commands the Inquisition's forces! Join us, as he did!”

The Lord Seeker glared in her direction, that hungry look of regard passing over his eyes again. “You are a mage. Your ties are worthless. They're all made traitors just by being in your company.” She could tell that the need to ignore that he knew what she was made him agitated.

The man who had to be calmed after the Mother was assaulted stepped forward. Philippa studied his features, remembering them for later. He might be useful if he was willing to question. He was young, likely new to his position, but not the Order itself. His skin was dark and his tight curls were shorn close to his head in the middle and even closer on the sides. His lips were large and his eyes gentle, a caring light green. “But Lord Seeker, what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if...”

The man who cut him off was none other than the one with the mother's streak of blood across his fist. “You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question.”

The demon Lord Seeker pulled his eyes from Philippa and said, “ _I_ will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition. Independence. _You_ have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition... less than nothing. Templars. Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

With the show over and the Templars leaving, the crowd began to disperse and Varric moved from his watchful post. “Charming fellow, isn't he?”

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?!” Cassandra gasped in shock.

“ _That_ was a demon,” Philippa hissed, touching Cassandra's shoulder.

The warrior shrugged her off, but not in anger. Philippa dropped her arms back down to her sides as Solas padded up to join them. “That cannot be,” Cassandra insisted, offering a frown to Philippa. "Seeker's cannot be possessed. Our training makes it impossible."

Philippa shook her head. "He wasn't possessed. That was literally a demon wearing the Lord Seeker's skin. I can't tell you what type, but I know a demon when I sense one."

Solas tipped his head in her direction with curiosity. "You are a somniari?" His tone was almost jealous, but his expression excited. She wondered why he would be jealous. She knew he was like her. Did he think she didn't know?

“Doesn't look like we'll be getting the Templars to help us after all,” Philippa said, trying to ignore Solas' question, but her cringe giving him an answer. With a sigh that was both one of relief and frustration combined, she turned back to Cassandra.

“I wouldn't write them off so quickly,” Cassandra chided. “There must be those in the Order who see what he's become. Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.”

Philippa moaned. They had literally just arrived and Cassandra was ready to leave already. “Can't we at least stop in at a cafe for some food?” she practically begged, tired of the sore ass she was getting from riding for almost ten hours a day.

The Seeker turned to her with one brow raised. When Philippa pouted her bottom lip forward, Cassandra rolled her eyes as Varric chuckled. “Fine.”

Philippa did a victory dance that was extremely short lived as she remembered the Mother, who had been woken and sat up by a few of the other Clerics. “One moment,” Philippa said and brushed past Cassandra to see to the Mother. “Be still,” Philippa soothed as she knelt beside the mother and laid her palms on the woman's shoulders. She closed her eyes and reached for the core in her chest where her magic rested. The healing spell coiled outwards to slip down her arms and help to knit the woman's wound together. Without another word, Philippa stood and left the Mother who she swore actually smiled at her. _One small problem at a time_ , Philippa reminded herself.

“That was a kind thing you did,” Solas said softly to her. “Let us hope that she remembers who helped her.”

“That's not why I did it.” Philippa glanced at the elf as he smiled knowingly at her.

Before he could respond, Varric collided with Philippa and called, “Watch out!”

An arrow struck the ground at the precise spot she had just been standing in. “Andraste's ass!” she cursed, scrambling backwards and scanning the upper levels of the square to see if she could spot the shooter.

“There is a message attached to it,” Cassandra said, moving to kneel by the arrow that was stuck between two cobblestones. She yanked it from it's spot as Philippa regained her feet and brushed herself off.

“What does it say?” Philippa asked, rubbing her palm where her fall had given her road rash.

Cassandra chuckled. “I don't know. It is addressed to 'Herald Thingy'.”

Philippa snatched the note from Cassandra who pushed back to her feet to stand beside her and read over her shoulder. The note was folded into a maddeningly intricate origami and Philippa found herself biting her lip as she struggled to unfold it. When she was finally able to see the scrawling handwriting, she smoothed the paper and mumbled out loud as she read, ignoring the doodles in the margins.

_People say you're special. I want to help and I can bring everyone!_

_There's a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and 'round the cafe, and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring swords._

_Friends of Red Jenny_

Philippa sighed and dropped her arms. “It's a bloody scavenger hunt.”

“At least one of the clues is in the cafe, Charmer,” Varric said with a grin.

She folded the paper neatly and turned back toward the docks. She stepped over the dais that was now abandoned and followed the small alley to the dock. “Okay, look for 'red things',” she said distractedly as her eyes were already scanning the area.

“Are you certain we should be wasting our time on this?” Cassandra asked grudgingly.

Philippa shrugged and then jogged off toward a mess of nets that was lying on the ground by some barrels. “The note says there's danger. We might as well check it out.” She knelt by the nets and began to work through the knots to reach a small package wrapped in red cloth that was partially hidden by the smelly contents. When she finally found her prize, she shook it carefully hoping it wasn't chock full of grenades or phials full of poison. She opened it and inside the box was a key wrapped in another note. It was in a different hand than the one before.

_Key lifted from drunk swearing about Herald. Don't know what door. I'm out, my debt is paid._

Philippa pocketed the key and sighed. “Let's hope the other clues are more informative.”

“We'll go to the cafe last. Let's see what we find in the upper market,” Varric suggested.

With a curt nod, Cassandra agreed. They found their way up and Philippa thought they were looking for a needle in a hay stack. As they exited the spiral staircase, she happened to glance at some of the stained glass windows ahead and out of the corner of her eye, she saw another small red package tucked behind a potted plant just visible enough to be seen if you knew what you were looking for. “Well, that was easier than I thought it would be,” she said, starting to enjoy the little game. At least she was getting to see more of Val Royeaux.

This clue was stuffed in a red sock. Philippa pulled a ripped page from the sock and with two fingers placed it back into the pot. This one was scrawled in another new script and beneath that, a different hand. The first was easy and the other she struggled to read.

… _and we are to obey well. We meet at three bells to discuss how best to serve the new way._

_Herald go at time. Praise Adrast._

“Well, we have a key and a time. I suppose that the clue in the cafe will reveal the place,” Solas suggested, glancing over the note and cringing at the misspellings before handing it back to Philippa.

“Suddenly, I could use a drink,” Varric mumbled as they made their way back downstairs to the cafe.

Philippa scanned the ground as they waited for the maitre d to find them a place to sit. Cassandra had her arms crossed in front of her and Philippa could practically hear the disgusted noise before it even manifested. She smiled politely and nudged Varric when she spotted her prize. He slunk off, smoothly moving between the tables and knocked a patron's fork to the floor then apologized, bending to pick up the fork and retrieving the paper that was splashed with red paint at the same time. He returned to Philippa's side, slipping her the paper and she held it in her fist as the maitre d returned with a table for them.

They arranged themselves strategically around the table and Philippa ordered a cup of tea before smoothing the paper out to read it.

_Thank you, friends, for helping good Lady Keris. Saw those who asked about Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them exit._

Philippa lifted the paper and slouched back in her seat, squinting as she read it again trying to work the clue. “That is a Stable Report,” Cassandra said, taking the paper from Philippa and turning it around.

Philippa smiled. “Well, now we have our location. With plenty of time to spare before three bells. I say we eat and then pay our 'baddie' a visit.”

“Oh, Charmer, don't you know it's not a good idea to meet your enemies on a full stomach?” Varric teased.

“I _don't_ know that, Varric, and I am going to continue to pretend I didn't hear you say that as I stuff my face with something fancy and Orlesian,” Philippa said with a smirk.

“I wonder if they have frilly cakes,” Solas mused quietly as he perused the menu in front of him.

“Just stay away from the escargot,” Varric warned. “There was this one time Hawke...”

He stopped talking as Cassandra actually snarled at him. Philippa picked up her menu and hid her snicker. “No escargot for me then,” she said.


	24. The Cap of Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa is tasked with gathering sympathetic people to the cause of the Inquisition.

When their appetites had been sated, Varric had the bill charged to the Dwarven Merchant's Guild with a shrug. “They owe me,” he said.

On their way out of the city, they were stopped twice. The first time was by a messenger with an invitation to a soiree at the residence of one Madame Vivienne de Fer. Philippa pocketed the invitation as an excuse to spend even more time in Val Royeaux before Cassandra dragged her by her ear back to Haven. She'd never been to an Orlesian party before.

The second time was a surprise, even to Philippa. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?!” Cassandra asked in surprise after the small elven woman dressed in fur lined Enchanter's robes approached them.

“Leader of the mage rebellion?” Solas asked with curiosity stepping forward. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“I heard of this gathering and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes,” the Enchanter answered with a short bow of her head. She turned her large green eyes on Philippa. “If it's help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.”

Philippa jumped at the offer. “That would have been my first choice if you had been willing to speak with us.” She ignored Cassandra's grunt of disapproval as she watched Fiona closely.

“We're willing now. That's the important thing.” Fiona said inclining her head so the sun reflected off her short, silky, black hair. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come... Meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lady Herald.” With that, Fiona disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

Cassandra stared at Philippa until Philippa averted her gaze. Maker, Cassandra was scary. “Come on, it's almost three bells,” Philippa said, skirting Cassandra's reach as she turned and walked away.

The Red clues led them to a darkened back alley where they were almost immediately set upon by a company of mercenaries. As their assailants shouted obscenities about the Inquisition, Philippa chuckled. “They know who I work for, at least.”

“Yeah, the question is, who do they work for?” Varric shouted from a little ways behind her.

After her first week in the Hinterlands, Philippa still did not enjoy taking human lives, but she had learned to accept that it was part of her life now. It was like when they had gone to Vinmark when the dwarves had been attacking them. It was her life or theirs. She whirled her staff with as much vigor as she would have if they had been fighting off demons. When she cracked the last man that ran at her with the head of her staff and then twirled it to push a bolt of lightning into his chest as he laid on the ground, she asked, “Was that all of them?”

“Doubtful,” Cassandra growled stepping over one of the dead men.

Philippa headed up the short stairway in front of her and towards a door. She gave the door a gentle push and it swung open easily. Someone was waiting on the other side and she quickly sidestepped the fireball that whizzed by her face. She could still feel the heat from it when the second one came at her. She ducked below that one then raised up with a scowl on her face. Two back to back fireballs seemed to be enough to make whatever point he had been trying to make as he stopped his onslaught and posed. She glared at the mage before her. He was dressed lavishly from head to foot, an ornate mask draped over his features as was the norm in Orlais. He stood with his chest puffed out and one foot strategically crossed in front of the other, his toe pointed. Philippa fought the urge to laugh as he crowed her name in a thick Orlesian accent. “Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have cost the Inquisition immeasurably.” His chest puffed out even further and Philippa crossed her arms.

“Am I supposed to recognize you?” she said, the simple phrase insulting the man who clearly thought he was important.

Her assessment was confirmed with his next words. “You don't fool me. I'm too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

Their attention was all drawn to another man as he cried out in pain before crumpling to the ground. At the 'hrk' that escaped his throat as he died and the sound of him falling to the ground, the talker turned to see what was going on. Behind him stood a young female elf. She wore yellow plaid leggings that reached to the middle of her calves and flat shoes that looked like they would help her move silently. Her shirt was a bright red and form fitting, but it looked as if a child had sewn it. She carried rows of small glass vials on her belt and a quiver full of arrows on her back. A longbow stood drawn in her hands. Her face held a playful expression underneath the scowl she was aiming at the pompous ass. Her hair was dirty blonde and Philippa definitely knew that a child had cut and styled it. None of the ends were the same length and it angled up and down in no discernible pattern except 'short'. “Just say 'what',” the girl said very clearly.

“What is the meaning of...” The man's words were cut short by a liquid gurgle as her arrow found it's way into his skull.

“Ugh,” she complained as she approached, her lip curled. “Squishy one... but you heard me, right? Just say 'what'.” She knelt to grip the shaft of the arrow. “Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah, blah, BLAH!” with a grunt she pulled it from his brain then studied it for imperfections before slipping it back in her quiver. “Obey me, arrow in my face.” She moved to stand in front of Philippa who was watching her with mild amusement. “So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you're...” she squinted at Philippa and disappointment flashed across her face. “You're kind of plain really. All that talk and then you're just a person.” At Philippa's insulted crossing of her arms, the elf held up her hands and said. “I mean, it's all good innit? The important thing is you glow. You're the Herald Thingy.”

“That's me, the human lantern. What just happened here?” Philippa asked in the space between the elf's rapid fire talk.

“No idea. I don't know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him,” the elf said with a shrug.

“Your people? Elves?” Philippa asked, dropping her arms to her sides and glancing to Solas who shrugged.

“Pfft. No. People people.” She paused a split second and gestured to a pile of crates nearby. “Name's Sera. This is cover. Get 'round it. For the reinforcements. Don't worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They've got no breeches!” She squealed in excitement as a group of the mentioned reinforcements burst through the doors above.

Philippa drew her staff and called her magic, throwing up a barrier to stop the charging aggressors. She couldn't help laughing as the men poured into the area in nothing but their small clothes. “Why didn't you take their weapons?” she called out to Sera as the elf scurried playfully around the field shooting arrow after arrow.

“'Cuz, no Breeches!” she answered cackling wildly. Philippa flicked her wrist and the barrier fell so she could whip her staff in an arc and slam it into the shield of one of the men. While he was dazed, she folded her fingers and bent her palm back to blast him with an arcane bolt. He dropped like a brick. “Bunch of nutters!” Sera shouted, taunting the two remaining thugs, leaving them open for Philippa to lay a carefully traced glyph at their feet. As soon as they walked over the mark on the ground, Philippa stabbed the bottom of her staff to the ground and transferred the power to the glyph, igniting a ring of fire around the men, cooking them in their half armor. When they fell with the choking scent of charred flesh in the enclosed area, Philippa nearly gagged while Sera scuttled down from the ledge she'd climbed onto. “Friends really came through with that tip.” She snorted. “No breeches.” Her laugh was gleeful and Philippa found it mildly infectious. “So, Herald of Andraste. You're a strange one. I'd like to join.”

Philippa held up her hands. “Hold on just a minute. I think this was helpful, but I'm not quite sure who you people are yet...”

“I'm not _people_ ,” Sera said with a short chuckle. “But I get what you want. It's like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That's me...” she started picking her fingernails which Philippa noticed were rather filthy. “Well, I'm one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven! Brothers or something. It's just a name, yeah? It lets little people, 'friends', be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I'm Sera. 'The Friends of Red Jenny' are sort of out there.” She waved her hands wildly. “I used them to help you. Plus arrows.”

Philippa's eyes flicked up and down over the eccentric elf and she couldn't help smiling. If she was understanding the word soup that she was being fed, the girl was part of an unofficial spy network. “So, you're... spies?”

Sera frowned slightly before using her hands to wildly gesture as she spoke. “Here's how it is. You 'important' people are up here, shoving your cods around.” Her voice raised to a mocking tone and she punctuated some of her next phrases with exaggerated kissing sounds. “Blah, blah, I'll crush you. I'll crush you... ooh crush you!” she cleared her throat before continuing. “Then you've got cloaks and spy kings. Like this tit,” she gestured at the dead leader. “Or was he one of the little knives? All serious with his... little knife. All those secrets and what gave him up? Some house boy who don't know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I'm not Knifey ShivDark, all hidden. But if you don't listen down here, too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards... I stole their...” she choked back another laugh. “Look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you.” Philippa was not certain she fully understood still, but Sera had helped. She was worth taking along in Philippa's opinion.

“Alright, Sera,” Philippa said, glancing back at Cassandra who was staring at the elf, slack-jawed and looking like she was about three explanations behind. “I could use you and your 'friends'.”

“Yes! Get in good before you're too big to like! That'll keep your breeches where they should be... Plus extra breeches, because I have all these... You have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway. Haven. See you there, Herald. This will be grand!” Before Philippa could say another word, Sera had trotted off, grabbing up a potato sack that was likely full of breeches and skipped out the back door.

“I will be surprised if she doesn't get sidetracked along the way and forget all about Haven,” Varric grumbled.

“One sovereign says you're wrong,” Philippa sighed, watching as Cassandra finally caught up and scowled at the prospect of the elf running around Haven unchecked.

"You're on, Charmer..."

The soiree where she met Madame de Fer could not have been any less like her meeting with Sera even if there had been breeches. She was announced at the door as she entered and she glanced around at the elegant tapestries and dimly lit ballroom. She felt mildly naked as she took note of every other guest and the elaborate masks they wore. Her dusty travel worn clothes stuck out like a sore thumb. The weight of her staff lent her a modicum of comfort as she bit her lip, wondering why she was here.

Less than ten steps into the room, she was stopped by a pair of Orlesian nobles. “What a pleasure to meet you, My Lady,” the man said, his voice light and quick. “Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome.” Philippa felt her brow knit lightly together as she wondered how they could even tell each other apart with the ridiculous masks. His was a simple golden metal color that hid from the bottom of his nose all of the way to his hairline, the bottom edge giving him the appearance that he had jowls like a bulldog. On top of his head sat an odd hat that she had noticed all around Orlais so far. It must have been in style and she cocked her head, hoping she wasn't being insulting by gawping. “You must be a guest of Madame de Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?” The man asked curiously.

The woman drew her attention next. The only bit of her skin that was visible was a thin swath from the tip of her nose to the top of her lip that was drowned out by the silver mask and the absurd neck frill that she wore as if she were completely comfortable. Her large white hat had a wide brim surrounding it that laid flat on one side and swooped upwards toward the ceiling on the other. In the middle, a single large red feather was placed, artfully following the swoop even as it struggled to remain aloft under its own weight. “Are you here on business?” Her voice was sing-songy and light, surprisingly not muffled behind her frill. “I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

Philippa opened her mouth and chose her words carefully. _Best foot forward_ , she reminded herself, _but don't reveal all of your cards_. “It's all true... Every word,” she said with a smirk.

The woman tittered, her voice high and breathy. “Better and better. The Inquisition should attend more of these parties.”

A strangled choke of short laughter called Philippa's gaze to her right where a man was walking boldly down the staircase. “The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit.” Philippa frowned. “Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously.” The man reached the bottom of the stairs and began to circle Philippa like a predator. She took note of the dagger he kept at his back and her own hand was not far from her staff. “Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

“This isn't about power. We only wish to find the Divine's murderer and restore peace,” Philippa said conversationally, pitching her voice to match his.

The man chuckled wryly. “Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army!” He stepped up closer, invading her space and she could smell alcohol on his breath. “We all know what your 'Inquisition' truly is. _If_ you were a woman of honor, you would step outside and answer these charges.”

Philippa felt her stomach flip. Had he just challenged her? She suddenly wished she had brought Cassandra along in spite of the warrior's complete lack of couth. Philippa backed up three steps from him as he reached up, his hand landing on the hilt of his dagger. Before he could draw it, the man froze in place, surrounded by a cool fog that rolled off the winter's grasp spell he was caught in. Philippa looked down at her palms in shock. That had not been her magic. Her eyes flicked up and scanned the room. It did not take long for them to land on the regal figure as she walked gracefully down the stairs behind Philippa's challenger. She was dressed in a skintight white silken leotard inlaid with gold threading and a intricate blue paisley embroidery that snaked down her middle from to neck to foot. Her heels clicked pleasantly, as Philippa noticed that they were attached to a tall pair of boots that matched her outfit and reached all of the way to her thighs. There was a half skirt resting at her hips and a wide blue and gold fan that spread to frame her head which was topped with a typical Orlesian Hennin that held her mask in place and gave her horns like a Qunari. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate, much darker than Mother Giselle's and her lips were thick and unamused as she scolded the man. “My dear Marquis. How unkind of you to use such language in _my_ house... to _my_ guests.” This must be the famous Madame de Fer. She strutted her way from the bottom of the staircase, the sway of her hips in the heels making Philippa think of a lioness stalking it's prey. “You know such rudeness is... intolerable.” She chided.

The man struggled to speak around the spell, his teeth chattering. “Madame Vivienne. I humbly beg your pardon.”

“You should,” she said coldly as she finally stopped before him. She invaded his space as thoroughly as he had Philippa's just moments ago. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” she said with a sigh. She spun to regard Philippa, her pointed shoulder pads catching the light. “My Lady, you're the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Philippa was curious to see who Madame de Fer really was and she prayed she was not condemning the idiot to death with her next words. “I didn't come here for the Marquis, so I don't really care. Do as you like.”

Vivienne regarded her with narrowed eyes and a cocked hip. Then with a curt smile, she turned back to the Marquis, likely understanding Philippa's intention, and took his chin in her fingers. “Poor Marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog lord,” she sighed with a pitying pout in her voice. She backed up, the same hand coming off his chin and with a flourish, she snapped her fingers and the spell dissipated, leaving the man hacking and coughing as he thawed. "And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange's doublet. Didn't she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave Chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning... and you're still here.” The insult radiated through the room, perfectly delivered for maximum carnage. Whispers stirred between the other guests as Vivienne stood, studying the perfectly manicured nails on her fingers. “Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think her blade would put an end to the misery of your failure?” The man hung his head and Vivienne perked up. “Run along, my dear. Do give my regards to your Aunt.” When she spun again to face Philippa, there was a pleasant grin pulling her thick lips apart to reveal two rows of perfectly white, dazzling teeth. “I'm so glad you could attend this little gathering. I've _so_ wanted to meet you.” Philippa inclined her head politely as Vivienne gestured for her to follow. She led her back up the stairs that she had appeared from and stopped her before a row of floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the rising moon. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

So this Ice Queen was the First Enchanter in Orlais? That made her an extremely powerful woman. She could have felled the Marquis with barely a thought, but she let him go. The only thing destroyed was his reputation, which in Orlais, she might as well have killed him. “For my first Orlesian party, this has certainly shaped up to be interesting,” Philippa quipped, taking in the studious look that was being raked over her.

A warm chuckle entered her voice. “I'm glad to keep you entertained, my dear. I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one's connections carefully. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles, but the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos. As the leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

Philippa frowned, crossing her arms. “Who exactly are these 'loyal' mages loyal to?”

“To the people of Thedas, of course,” Vivienne said, her eyes widening briefly. “We have not forgotten the Commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man.” Philippa flinched as she realized that Vivienne had been one of the mages that voted against independence. They had been on opposite sides of the fence. “I support any effort to restore such order.”

“So, you're in favor of returning the mages to the Circle, then?”

Vivienne flicked her eyes to Philippa's staff and shifted her hips before answering. “I am well aware of who you were, First Enchanter, even if you do not recognize me. You may not have been a voice in the chaos in Kirkwall, but you were there when it happened. I ask you, where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on it's own.” The last was bitter as she crossed her arms beneath her chest.

In spite of her beliefs clashing so thoroughly with hers, Philippa knew an advantage when she saw one. Without revealing her personal opinion on the matter, she smiled warmly. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

Her smile was returned with mild surprise. “Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that.”

In spite of her outward appearances, Vivienne was surprisingly willing to get herself dirty. She had elected to travel with Philippa and the others as they rode back to Haven. They'd met with a few bandits along the road on their third day and the Enchantress had shown her true power, manifesting a long spirit blade from a hilt that she carried on her belt, wielding it alongside her staff, that aided her in hacking down their enemies. Philippa had watched in awe. Knight Enchanters were a rare breed among mages, but they were generally very powerful and respected.

When they rode back into Haven, handing their horses off to Dennet, Philippa sighed, glad to be free of the saddle. “How about a drink, Charmer?” Varric asked with a friendly grin.

She glanced at Vivienne who inclined her head. “Run along, my dear. I am sure I can find my way to the Chantry. I very much wish to introduce myself to your Mother Giselle.”

“Please, let me know if there is anything you need. Josephine has probably already had accommodations made up for you,” Philippa called over her shoulder as Varric dragged her along by her wrist.

“You need to take a break,” he said with a chuckle. “I can't be the only one that has noticed Cassandra handing over more and more authoritative duties into your marked hands. Since when did you don the cap of recruitment?”

Philippa sighed as she fell into step beside the dwarf. She was admittedly still tired, her head still ached, and people seemed to keep coming to her to make decisions. “Probably somewhere between now and the moment I allowed them to start calling me 'Herald'.”

“You know, Hawke never asked to be the Champion either, but circumstance kind of dropped it in his lap. You two are so much alike,” he told her.

Philippa was honored. Varric respected no one in Thedas as much as he respected her twin. For him to compare them left her speechless. Instead of thanking him, she nudged him. “Why is Garrett such a sore topic between you and Cass?”

Varric sighed deeply. “As I told you, the Seeker came to me after the Chantry blew up in Kirkwall. Hawke was long gone, but Cassandra seemed to think I should know where he was. I didn't, but you know the Seeker. She wasn't willing to take no for an answer. She... interrogated me, extensively before forcing me to follow her to Haven so I could repeat my story to the Divine. Then the sky opened up and here we are.”

Philippa frowned. “Why _was_ Cassandra looking for my brother?”

He chuckled. “As you know, Anders was a close _personal_ friend of your brother's. The Seeker thought since Hawke was an advocate for mage rights, his voice might hold sway at the Conclave.”

Philippa nodded thoughtfully as they entered the tavern. Flissa waved at them before Varric held up two fingers and dropped himself in a chair near the bar. Philippa moved to join him, but her attention was drawn elsewhere as she heard a familiar cackling laugh. She smiled as her eyes fell on the wild elf that she had recruited in Val Royeaux. “I guess she didn't forget about us,” she remarked, tossing her head in the direction of the elf as she sat across from Varric.

“I believe I owe you a sovereign,” he smirked as Flissa set their drinks on the table. Philippa nodded her thanks to the woman and wrapped her fingers around the cool mug. She wasn't usually one for drinking, but she had tried everything else for her head, perhaps some alcohol would do her good. She sipped the frothy liquid as she watched Sera dancing around a table and taunting a soldier that she had just beaten at a hand of Wicked Grace.

She sat with Varric, enjoying a quiet drink with him, until Sera spotted her. “Herald!” the girl shouted bouncing on the balls of her feet and waving. Philippa stood with a smile at Varric. He tipped his mug to her and she made her way over to Sera, her cheeks slightly flushed at the attention she was garnering, as the girl giggled. When Philippa sat down at a free table and flapped her hand for Sera to join her, the first words out of her mouth were. “So, this is it, huh?” When Philippa cocked her head and a slight frown wrinkled her forehead, Sera threw up her arms. “Oh no, it's fine, yeah? It's just, I thought it'd be bigger.” Before Philippa could respond, Sera's mouth began running again. She was a bundle of energy. She giggled. “That would have been hilarious if you were a man, right? Wasted... Anyway, stopping wars should earn more sovereigns than this. Need things back to normal for coins to be flowing again. Another reason the templars and mages need to be sat down.”

Philippa smirked around her mug before taking a sip and then setting it down on the table. The condensation dripped from beneath her fingers where the moisture had been disturbed by her touch. She slowly turned the mug, making a ring on the table. “I'm pretty sure when the Conclave blew up, 'normal' went on holiday. It's not that easy.”

“Yes it is,” Sera said matter-of-factly.

Philippa cocked her head again. “No, it isn't?”

“Why?” Sera asked a frown making her nose wrinkle. “Because someone yelled it real loud? Make them prove it!” Her expression softened again. “They're too busy to look up where the real questions are.”

“Right!” Philippa said her voice rising in amusement. “They should know it's a simple job. End all war, stitch the sky...” she paused and her eyes flicked up to Sera as she grinned. “The easy one first, of course.”

Sera laughed nervously as she figured out that Philippa was not making fun of her, but joking with her. “You're daft, yeah? Most people get special, they lose their snerk. Can't see how stupid it all is. I think I like you Lady Herald. Maybe you are a little touched, yeah?”

Philippa took another sip of her drink and nodded holding the liquid in her mouth, savoring the taste before swallowing and setting the mug back in the center of the circle she'd created. “I'm doing my best... So long as I'm not the only one.”

“I'm in. Its an investment, yeah?” The wide smile she sported was replaced with the lifting of her upper lip and the wrinkling of her nose. “Better pay off, too. Stupid war and... everything. I had things to do!”

With a chuckle, Philippa got up from her seat, and downed the remainder of her drink. “This one's on you, Varric!” she called and he waved her off. “Excuse me Sera, but I have two weeks of travel to scrub out of my hair.”

She walked out, followed by excited giggling and the words, “Ooh, naked Herald.”

She stepped out into the brisk air as the sun was beginning to dip below the mountains for the day. The Breach cast an eerie green glow on the entire area as the sun spread it's light across the horizon. Philippa momentarily drank in the dark beauty before heading toward her cabin. She walked into her cabin to find not only the usual porcelain bowl and wash cloth, but that a tub had been set up in her space with a warm bath drawn. Josie's doing, no doubt. She stripped and warmed the water further with a touch of mana to soak for what felt like hours until her fingertips had shriveled. Servants had provided her with bath salts infused with elfroot and a shampoo that smelled of Crystal Grace. Shivering a little after she emerged from the warm water, she lit the fireplace and rubbed the moisture from her hair with a spare shirt before shaking it out to fall sloppily as usual. Then she quickly pulled on her nightclothes and huddled beneath the blankets of her bed. Sleep came soon after.

The relaxing bath seemed to allow her a slightly longer sleep, but still she awoke in the middle of the night. She pulled on some clothes and bundled up in her cloak to go on a brief walkabout. She found herself drawn down to the barracks tents, but when she reached Cullen's tent, she realized she didn't quite know how to go about knocking on canvas. She could see the light of his fire-pit flickering between the small gap in the opening. She adjusted where she was standing and peeked in, only wishing to judge whether he was sleeping or not. She was caught off guard by the sight on the other side of the flap. She stared momentarily, watching the muscles of his back expand and contract as he perfectly executed a string of push-ups. Her lip found it's way between her teeth and she almost audibly groaned before she caught herself and her cheeks flushed. She fled, turning and rushing back to her cabin. Once she was inside, she flopped into the chair beside the table and dropped her head into her arms. The sight of him shirtless had been a slap in the face. As much as she was looking for a game of chess that night, she didn't think she would be able to look him directly in the eyes for a few days.

She managed to force a few more hours of sleep into her night before she was awakened early in the morning by a sharp rap on her door. “Herald, we must report to the leadership of the situation in Val Royeaux.”

Philippa groaned and rubbed her eyes. It was barely dawn and Cassandra's voice pouring through the door sounded irritated already. “I'm coming,” she grumbled as the knocking began again.

She sat up and stretched her limbs, her back audibly popping as it realigned itself. All this time on the road was going to make her old before her time. She fished for some warm clothes and came across some freshly washed garments of Avaar design that she had taken to wearing around Haven for the added warmth. She slipped them on and went to the door to open it for Cassandra. “We're late,” the Seeker snapped as Philippa stepped onto the stoop.

“Good morning to you, too, Cassandra,” she said with a smirk.

The warrior rolled her eyes and hurried her along toward the Chantry. Nearly as soon as they pushed open the heavy oak doors, Josephine appeared from the shadows to their right. She was uncharacteristically without her clipboard and Philippa snickered as she realized that Josie was not quite awake either. “It's good you have returned. We heard of your encounter.”

“You heard?” Cassandra asked in shock as Leliana and Cullen both sauntered up from different directions. Philippa averted her gaze from the Commander as the sight of his exercise efforts from the night before flashed across her memory.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana said, stirring a small cup of tea in her hands with a tiny spoon. She smiled around the brim as she lifted the cup to her lips and sipped.

Cullen crossed his arms and Philippa noticed when she dragged her eyes back to him as he talked that the rings under his eyes were getting darker. The man was overworking himself. Not like she was one to talk. Her own dark circles were ringing her eyes as well. “It's a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capitol.”

“We have a bigger problem than the scouts know,” Philippa reported, moving to try and herd the others into the war room. There was no need to be discussing demons in the main hall of the Chantry among the morning religious folks.

“We do,” Cassandra agreed as they all turned to head further into the Chantry together. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been... very odd,” Leliana said frowning into her tea cup as she strolled to a stop once more.

"That's because he's a demon," Philippa said as softly as she could. Cullen's eyes widened and she pushed aside her awkward feelings to look him in the eye. "You know I'm able to sense these things, Commander. I'm not making this up."

Cullen's expression settled on a frown. "She's right. I've seen Hawke identify a possession in the past. It was how I discovered the possessed templars in Kirkwall."

"But Seekers cannot be possessed," Cassandra insisted.

Philippa sighed heavily. "He's _not_ possessed," she repeated. "He is a flesh and blood demon wearing the Lord Seeker's face."

“We must look into it,” Cullen insisted. “I'm certain not everyone in the Order will support the 'Lord Seeker'.” Philippa thought about the young man who had openly questioned the Lord Seeker and had been silenced.

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead,” Josephine suggested off hand.

Cullen stopped short and spun around. “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse.”

Philippa bit her lip and took half a step forward, not in the least bit interested in facing down whatever demon was masquerading as the Lord Seeker. The way he had looked at her made her shudder as she thought about it again. “I could at least find out what the mages want.”

Cassandra was quick to retort as Cullen's gaze fell on her with a mixture of several emotions that she could not sort out, warring for a place at the forefront. She shuffled her feet nervously. “No doubt what they've always wanted. Support for their cause.”

“We shouldn't discount Redcliffe. The mages may be worth the risk.” Philippa was at least glad to have Josie on her side of the debate.

“They _are_ powerful, Ambassador,” Cassandra chided. “But more desperate than you realize.”

“So it'll be dangerous...” Philippa shrugged. “Like showing down with a demon won't be dangerous?”

“If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave...” Cassandra began.

Josie cut her off. “The same could be said about the Templars.”

Cullen snorted in frustration. “True enough. Right now, I'm not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely.” At least he was backing off of his opinion and thinking more about the safety of either meeting as a higher priority.

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra said with a sigh. “That's something _you_ can help with.” Her gaze fell on Philippa _. Yay, more traveling,_ Philippa thought, crossing her arms.

“In the meantime, we should consider other options,” Josie said softly and then turned away to head for her office.

Cullen and Cassandra exchanged looks before also taking their leave. Philippa was ready to excuse herself when Leliana approached her. “There is one other matter.” Afraid she'd done something wrong, Philippa smiled and cocked her head to listen. “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily I wouldn't even consider the idea they are involved in all of this, but the timing is curious.” She was swaying her hips as she stood in place, indicating how nervous the topic was making her.

“That is a little strange, even for Wardens,” Philippa said, instantly concerned for Bethany and Solona. She had not tried to contact her sister or cousin since all of this began, hoping they would stay well away from everything. Then suddenly it hit her. She and Leliana had met before. She stood, dumbstruck as she remembered back to Kinloch hold and the young red head with the bow that had been with Solona when she saved the Circle from Uldred. Why had it taken her this long to realize it? No wonder she was concerned about the Wardens. She was likely worried about Sol as well.

“The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it,” Leliana confessed, the tea cup in her hand clinking merrily as she shifted and the spoon slid around the lip. “Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

“And if he can't?” Philippa asked, flushing and blatantly not pointing out how she was only just then recognizing who Leliana was. The bard had likely known her the second they met in Kirkwall for her questioning.

“Then there may be more going on than we thought,” she said simply before turning and walking away toward the war room, leaving Philippa standing alone in the Chantry.

Philippa sighed, thinking about everything that she had ahead of her. As she shuffled out into the morning air, her thoughts were interrupted by someone hailing her. “Excuse me.” When she turned to meet the gaze of the person speaking to her, he quickly hurried ahead. “I've got a message for the Inquisition, but I'm having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.” His voice was oddly effeminate and the cut of his jaw gave Philippa pause.

“I can get the message to whoever it needs to get to,” she assured him, wondering if this soldier actually was a man or not.

“We got word of some Tevinter Mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you'd like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.” He passed her a small map with a location marked on it.

Philippa looked up from the map and smiled at the mercenary. “I will make the trip as soon as I can.”

“We're the best you can buy. Meet us at the Storm Coast and you can see us in action,” he said with a friendly nod and a smile.

She took her leave and thought as she walked. Cass had said they needed agents in more places. The Chargers just might be a good fit. She would bring it to the leadership's attention at the next meeting. She found herself wandering down toward the barracks and wondered why her feet kept carrying her there. Several recruits were already up with the sun running drills. She made her way over silently stopping near Cullen to watch.

He was barking orders to the men as he noticed imperfections in their footing or stance. “You there! There's a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead!” She noticed his back stiffen slightly before he turned to one of his officers and said. “Lieutenant! Don't hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander,” the man saluted and moved away to continue the drills.

Philippa caught a small smirk playing on his lips as he crossed his arms and his body noticeably relaxed. “We've received a number of recruits. Locals from Haven and some pilgrims.” He turned his face toward her, indicating he had known she was there the entire time without even having to glance behind him. “None made quite the entrance you did.”

She felt herself grinning madly as she stepped up beside him with a chuckle, her hands clasped behind her back as she continued to watch the drills. “You know me. I like to burst in unannounced. At least I got everyone's attention.”

“That you did,” he agreed. He began to stroll slowly by the recruits, his eyes still hunting for imperfections. “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall shortly after you left the Circle.” A scout scurried up behind them with a clipboard and a muttered, 'sir'. Cullen took the parchment and read it, his eyes scanning quickly over the words. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

“The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky, demons running amok... This is just my luck,” she agreed while he finished reading the missive.

“Which is why we're needed,” he said, his arm going lax beside him, his other hand predictably resting on his sword hilt. “The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and Mages,” he handed the report off to another scout who left to deliver it elsewhere. “Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There is so much we can...” He stopped himself with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

Her chuckle joined his. “Lecture away, Commander. I know how much you enjoy it.”

He laughed again, some of the weariness leaving his features as he smiled. “Another time perhaps.” She caught herself watching his mouth again as his smirk rose on the right. His smile faded slightly and his right hand found the back of his neck. She could have kicked herself. She wiped the grin from her face and shuffled her feet. “I ah...” he cleared his throat and seemed to regain himself, the smile returning to pull up the right side of his lips. “There's still a lot of work ahead.” Another scout approached with another report. He turned to take the clipboard, the lopsided grin still on his face and a bit of a swagger in his step. “As I was saying...”

Philippa watched him walk away, finding herself having to tear her eyes away from his backside. Maker, what was she doing? He was her Commander. He was Cullen for Maker's sake. She knew how he felt about mages. Philippa made herself scarce for the remainder of the day, working the redness from her cheeks. Every time she thought about that adorable lopsided smile tugging at the scar on his lip, her heart fluttered and the blush returned. What would those lips feel like pressed against hers. “Stop it, Phil!” she chided herself as she stomped toward the Tavern to get dinner. She pushed her way through the door, struggling to close it behind her as the wind gusted. They were probably looking at a blizzard heading through.

She shook off her chill and was going to head for a table by herself when his voice called to her. “Hawke!”

The blush returned and she hoped she could blame it on the weather. She turned to face him. “Commander,” she said pleasantly.

His brow furrowed as he frowned. _What had she said?_ “Would you, uh... like to join me?”

She felt herself smile and she moved toward his table. “As long as I'm not intruding.”

He snorted. “Not at all.” She sat and Flissa brought her a steaming bowl of stew. She nodded and thanked her before returning her gaze to him. _Had he been staring?_ He dropped his spoon into his bowl and quickly grabbed it back up. After laughing at himself, he said, “We didn't have much chance to talk earlier.” She took a tentative sip of her stew and allowed him to choose the topic of conversation since he'd been so eager to call her over. After a brief pause he said. “You traveled some distance to reach Haven. Were you invited to the Conclave?”

She nodded and licked her lips. “By the Divine herself!" She said importantly with a smirk. "It sort of feels strange to be back in Ferelden.”

He fidgeted with his spoon. “It does at times. I'm still getting used to it myself,” he admitted. “It's been... interesting.” With a quick shake of his head he said, “I'm sorry. Kirkwall isn't the most pleasant topic of conversation, right now... or ever. Shall we speak of something else?”

He opened the floor to her. Since he had stuck to something they had in common, she decided to delve a bit deeper into the mystery that was Cullen. “In all the years we've known each other, you've never really told me about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?” he asked, reclining back in his chair, his expression relaxed.

“Alright, where are you from?” She knew he was Ferelden, but she wasn't certain where in Ferelden.

“I grew up near Honnleath,” he said wistfully.

“Are you glad to be back?” she wondered.

“I was not sorry to leave at the time. I did not expect to return. Now, between the Divine's murder and the Breach, I've arrived to find nothing but chaos.” His relaxed posture seemed to shift and he leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He seemed to be opening up, but she was uncertain. She had been burning for years to ask him about Kinloch and what had really happened to him. Without thought, she pounced on his receptive state.

“What really happened at Kinloch?” she asked softly, her dinner all but forgotten as she studied the hurt behind his eyes. The amber irises shimmered with a suffocating amount of ghosts and he refused to meet her gaze.

“Don't... I... I would prefer not to speak of it.” He looked up, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Maker, I'm shite at finding anything good to talk about,” she said, trying to drag the mood out of the muck and save the conversation. “You are probably wishing you hadn't called me over.” Why was this so hard? They had been companions for years and finding things to talk about had never been an issue before. It was as if they were both different people.

He shook his head, a pained chuckle resonating from his throat. “Why ever would I regret talking with you? Maker, I should be used to you prodding me when I least expect it.” The sarcasm ringing in his voice brought a smile to her face.

She chuckled, dropping her spoon belligerently back into the hopeless bowl of cold stew. “I need a drink."

“Allow me,” he said as the wind picked up outside, howling like a pack of hungry wolves. He called to Flissa and got a refill for himself too.

She guided the conversation to much more neutral ground, asking him about Templar training and how it was to be a Templar in the Circle. She only had experience from her own perspective. They were into their third shared drink and Philippa could feel the permanent warmth of her skin that told her she had probably had too much. She had never seen Cullen so relaxed. The dark circles that had permanently took up residence below his eyes had all but disappeared as they engaged in a pleasant conversation. It was nice to see this side of him. “Do Templars take vows?” she asked innocently. “ _I swear to smite my mage friends when they least expect it..._ That sort of thing?”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes. “There's a vigil first. You're meant to be at peace during that time, but your life _is_ about to change. When it's over, you give yourself to a life of service. That's when you're given a philter. Your first draught of Lyrium and it's power. As templars you are not to seek wealth or acknowledgment. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we've chosen.”

Philippa's mouth took off without her brain and she grinned. “A life of service _and_ sacrifice. Does that include sacrificing temptations of a physical nature?”

“Physical? Why...?” He cleared his throat quickly and she saw a slight flush come to his cheeks. “Why would you...? That's not expected. Templars _can_ marry, al-although there are rules. The Order must grant permission. Some may choose to give up... more... to prove their devotion, but it's not required.” he picked up his mug and took a gulp as the reddening of his cheeks deepened.

“Have you?” she teased, tracing the rim of her own mug as she watched his eyes widen. Finally a topic she was enjoying. Making him blush and stutter was the highlight of her evening.

“Me?!” he asked, the mug nearly slipping from his hand. He set it down quickly as to avoid wearing it's contents. “I.. ummm... uh no. I've taken no such vows.” He shifted in his chair. “Maker's breath, shouldn't we speak of something else?” She chuckled heartily before finishing off her ale. Before she could order another one, he said. “Shall I walk you home?”

She pouted a bit, but he was likely right. Alcohol was making her tongue bold. She agreed and he followed her out into the angry storm. “Andraste's tits!” she cursed as the cold ripped the air from her lungs. She wrapped her arms around herself, started toward her cabin and heard a rustling behind her. Before she had made it three steps, a soft warm fabric was draped over her shoulders.

She glanced around and he had removed his cloak to give to her. The fur pauldrons tickled her cheek as she regarded him, the smirk on his face belying nothing of the awkwardness he had been feeling moments before. “You know it is very unbecoming of the 'Herald of Andraste' to use such language,” he mocked his hand landing briefly on the small of her back to hurry her along.

“Well then, it's a good thing I'm not Her Herald then,” she retorted, basking in the warmth that radiated from the cloak. His laughter was carried away on the wind as they walked. Too soon they reached her door and she opened it inwards so the wind would not take it off the hinges. She made to take off his cloak and return it but something occurred to her. She paused. “You sleep in a tent at the barracks?”

He cocked his head. “You know I do, why?”

She shook her head. “On a night like this, you should be indoors. It's freezing.”

“Hawke, I...” his hand found his neck.

She waved him off and pulled him inside. “It won't do for the Commander of the Inquisition to freeze to death. I've got plenty of blankets and plenty of floor.”

She shut the door behind him and moved to ignite the fireplace. On any other night, she would use her magic, but it felt important to try and do it normally while Cullen watched. He stood stiff in the doorway, looking like he didn't know what to do with his hands. Finally, his right one found his neck again as she hunted for some flint. She finally found it in a drawer of the desk and she knelt by the fireplace to set to work. After six failed attempts, she heard him clear his throat. “It's okay, Hawke. I know if I weren't here you wouldn't be using flint. Just light the blasted fire. It's cold.”

She sighed, dropped the flint into a corner by the fire and stood. "You won't smite me, right?" she teased. She could almost hear his eyes rolling and she chuckled. With a short burst of mana, she pushed the magic to the glyph she'd traced in the fireplace her first night there. The fire roared to life and she brushed her hands together with self satisfaction. He was still in her entryway, dripping a puddle from his boots onto the floor and looking rather spooked. She shrugged his cloak from her shoulders, and the warmth left her body. Containing her shudder, she walked back over to him and handed it back. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Um, you're welcome,” he stuttered. “I really should be...”

“No,” she insisted, grasping his hand and pulling him further inside. “Have a seat by the fire. Warm up a bit. I don't bite.”

He studied her warm smile and she made certain he wasn't going to bolt before letting go of his hand to drag the desk chair up behind him. She nodded to the chair and he sighed before draping the cloak over the back and sitting. She knelt and rummaged through her clothing bin. After a quick change of clothes while he obediently stared into the fire, she laid a hand in his shoulder before padding over to her bed and sitting on the edge. Her left fingers began twitching as the mark flared slightly as it seemed to do every now and again. She lifted the hand and used the other to rub her pressure points with her thumb. She looked up and noticed he was watching her. “Does that happen often?” he asked, his voice sympathetic.

She shook her head. “Every now and then, but I think I've gotten used to it. Apparently it's not going away any time soon, so I adjusted.”

He stood and walked over to her. “May I?” he asked holding out his hand.

She looked down at her own palm where the mark glowed a soft green before lifting it to place it in his. He knelt before her to get a better angle and his callused fingers gently probed the mark as a barely there frown creased his brow. She could smell the Lyrium on him, but it was faint like a far away dream. She remembered it being much headier in the past. Most templars reeked of the stuff. To her, they always smelled vibrant, like petrichor. His smell was muted, more Cullen than Lyrium. He had the hands of a seasoned swordsman, hard and rough, but he touched her like she was glass. Her fingers twitched again, but this time it was with the urge to run her hands through his wavy hair that was still damp from the snowfall outside. She bit her lip and gently pulled her hand away using it and the other to grip the bed frame on either side of her thighs. He gave her no indication in his expression whether he knew what she was thinking. He simply raised back to his feet and turned the chair so it was facing her before sitting.

After a few minutes of awkward false starts with different topics, they finally began discussing the other people around them. It was not a personal subject, but it was something they both should know about each other. Opinions mattered when it came to world shaking things like the Inquisition.

Hours later, she was propped on her left elbow under her blankets, the mark buried in her hair as she laughed. He was chuckling from a few feet away on the floor, his boots kicked off and his armor abandoned by the fire. His amber eyes were sparkling with humor as he looked at her from where he was lying on his back, one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee. His hands were clasped loosely over his abdomen. He was a picture and whenever he wasn't looking, Philippa caught her eyes wandering up and down his body, drinking him all in. Their conversation soon turned softer and she felt her lids drooping. “Hawke?” she heard him whisper

“Mmmhmm?” she mumbled, trying to pry her lids back open, but to no avail.

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Philippa's obsession with Cullen, and her constant headaches and sleepless nights, she can't be certain of anything anymore, and it takes her quite some time to recognize just how comfortable her former 'no touchy' Commander has become with small physical contact. The touch to her back to rush her along... allowing her to take his hand to keep him in the cabin... the touch to his shoulder to let him know he could turn around... his studying of her palm... the brush of their fingers when they exchanged papers...


	25. A Timely Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa is still out recruiting and looking into reports on Grey Wardens that Leliana managed to dig up. The leadership deliberates while she is on the road, and with her influence they decide to head to Redcliffe and have a chat with the rebel mages, only to be surprised with a brand new leader of the rebels.

His voice followed her into her dreams and when she awoke in the morning, an amazing full night's sleep under her belt, she was not surprised that he had already left. She sat up and stretched. After she glided over to her desk, she saw a small parchment folded and placed to be standing like a tent. His note was brief, but it made her smile. _Thank you for last night. It reminded me of old times. Both the fire and the conversation kept me warm._

Two days later, she, Vivienne, Sera and Cassandra were heading for the Storm Coast so they could assess The Bull's Chargers and deal with some reports of Fade Rifts and other disturbances in the area.

She had almost immediately regretted her decision to bring both Sera and Vivienne. She nearly wished that she was listening to Varric and Cassandra bicker rather than Sera and Vivienne. For six and a half days, the only break in the silence of the road was Sera making a rude noise and Vivienne scolding her for it in a manner that made Sera repeat the rude noise and then add rude words to it. Then Cassandra would make her token noise of disgust and Philippa would sigh.

When she was finally greeted by Scout Harding, she could have hugged the dwarf. “Your Worship! For what it's worth, welcome to the Storm Coast. I would have sent word sooner, but our efforts have been... delayed.”

“How so?” Philippa asked, a frown creasing her forehead as rain drops dripped from her hair into her eyes. They didn't call it the Storm Coast for nothing.

“There's a group of bandits operating in the area. They know the terrain and our small party has had trouble going up against them. Some of our soldiers went to speak with their leader.” She shifted her feet and frowned as well. “Haven't heard back, though.”

“Of course you haven't,” Philippa said with a sigh.

“The soldiers didn't have an exact location for the bandits, but they were starting their search farther down the beach. With all this fuss, we haven't been able to conduct a proper search for the Wardens, either... Well, good luck, and enjoy the sea air. I hear it's good for the soul.”

Philippa chuckled and brushed water from her brow. She needn't have bothered at this point. Her clothes were soaked through and she was dripping from everywhere. The only good thing about the rain was that it was keeping Sera quiet. Philippa genuinely liked the girl, but bringing her out with Vivienne in tow was not going to be a choice she ever made again.

They set off from the camp on foot towards the beach. The location that had been given to her by the Charger's messenger was not far. There were beached ships in random locations up and down the shore and the waves crashed angrily against the sand and rocks. Philippa ventured as deep as she dared to grab a few clippings of spindleweed for Adan before she heard the sounds of fighting. “Come on,” she called, taking off at a jog with her boots squishing uncomfortably under her feet. She was starting to feel blisters forming. She grabbed her staff from her back and when she spotted the battle raging, she quickly took account of the two separate groups. “Tevinters!” She shouted, marking the distinct clothing of the Northern country. Her staff flared to life in her hands and she began to throw defensive spells up to help the Chargers. This had to be the Chargers, she assumed. The young boy had mentioned Tevinters. Vivienne strode into the fray, her Spirit Blade manifesting as Sera charged past Philippa, her shirt catching fire as she smashed one of her little potion bottles against her chest. She cackled wildly as she ran up toward one of the Tevinter soldiers and shouted 'Boo' in his face making him run from her so she could turn his back into a pincushion. _An interesting strategy_ , Philippa thought as the flames on Sera's clothes petered out.

The Chargers barely needed their help and the fight ended quickly. Philippa leaned on her staff to draw in a deep breath. “Chargers! Stand down!” a deep commanding voice carried over the beach and she turned to face the impressive mountain before her. “Krem! How'd we do?”

She watched him stroll past and address the boy who she'd met at Haven. “Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead,” the soldier reported, his hands clasped behind his back.

“That's what I like to hear. Let the throat cutters finish up then break out the casks.” When 'Krem' left with a nod, Philippa got the full view of the Qunari. He was easily 8' tall and built to match. His large black horns protruded from the sides of his head just above his pointed ears, reaching to about the width of his broad shoulders before curving slightly upwards into five inch tall points. His skin was gray, like most Qunari, and in spite of being right in the thick of the fray, he wore very little armor. His pants puffed out, only to be cinched in where he tucked them inside his boots to keep from tripping over them as he moved. His left boot was covered with a thin metal plate, making that his forward standing side. The trend continued above with a off sided leather pauldron that rested over his left shoulder and was held in place by straps buckled over his meaty chest and abdomen. A matching leather belt, as wide as her head was tall, secured his pants at the top. The rest of his upper body was bare, save for the thick blocky tattoos that covered his upper arm and pectoral on his right. He scanned the beach with one light blue eye, the other covered with an ornate metal eye patch. From beneath the patch, jagged scars peeked out on his cheek and forehead. He carried a gigantic hammer on his back and when he gazed at her she saw his one eye size her up in a single swoop before he grinned widely. “So, you're with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

“You must be Iron Bull,” Philippa said, following the walking battering ram to take a seat on a nearby log that had likely recently been driftwood until high tide had come in. She felt mildly uneasy, the memory of her time with the Qunari unpleasant.

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away.” From what Philippa had experienced, the Qunari were usually a pretty stoic bunch, but this one seemed different. Not to mention he was the only one of his kind in his company. She remembered them traveling in packs. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my Lieutenant.”

The soldier in question appeared beside her. “Nice to see you again,” he said with a smile. “Throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already? Have them check again I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.” The Iron Bull chuckled and Philippa noticed that the soldier was indeed colored like he was from Tevinter. His skin was an attractive mocha color and his hair a light brown to match.

“None taken. At least a bastard knows who his mother was,” the boy retorted sassily as he turned on his heel to carry out his orders. “One up on you Qunari, right?”

“So, you've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it.” A short chuckle. “And I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“I can see you would be worth every penny. We barely lifted a finger,” Philippa agreed, her hand absently rubbing over the scar on her abdomen where the Qunari spear had gutted her years ago.

“They are, but you're not just getting the boys. You're getting me. You need a front line bodyguard. I'm your man. Whatever it is... Demons, Dragons, the bigger the better.” He stood and smirked as he passed her to look out over the ocean. “And there's one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off.” Philippa crossed her arms and waited for the ball to drop. “Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“They're the 'heart' of the Qunari. Or more literally their guards and city watch?” Philippa guessed, remembering back to what she had learned in Kirkwall.

“I'd go closer to 'spies', but yeah, that's them. Or, well, us,” he admitted with a shrug that could lift a boulder, his expression mildly impressed that she had known the rough translation of the term. “The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what's happening. But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people.”

Philippa tasted raindrops falling into her open mouth. She shut it and shook off her shock. “I've never heard of a spy that willingly gives away their occupation.”

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it's bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So, whatever I am, I'm on your side.”

“But you told me,” she said, still flabbergasted.

“You can't hide from something called the 'Inquisition'. I'd've been tipped sooner or later,” he said chuckling. “Better you hear it right up front... from me.”

Without much more thought, Philippa liked what she was hearing. She had faith that Leliana would make certain that Bull and his Chargers couldn't send anything that might compromise them, and his honesty was refreshing. “All right. You're in,” she said holding out her hand for him to shake.

“Excellent!” He said with excitement. His giant hand was like three of her own wrapping around hers, but he was very aware of his own strength and his shake was gentle. “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road! The Chargers just got hired.”

“What about the casks, Chief?! We just opened them up!... with axes...” the boy complained.

“Find some way to seal them. You're Tevinter, right? Try blood magic...” he said sarcastically. “We'll meet you back at Haven,” he called over his shoulder to Philippa.

They took care of several more issues along the Coast. Four days in the never ending rain and Philippa was ready to rip her hair out by the time they were making their way down the beach toward the base camp to pick up their horses. They had just closed a rift not far away and as she walked, she began to feel the ground shaking beneath her feet. She looked up and beside her, Sera was giggling with glee. “Wow! We can watch, yeah?” she begged.

Philippa and the others scurried behind a huge rock as before their eyes on the beach a battle unfolded between a giant and a dragon. She stared in awe as the two massive creatures fought for dominance. To see a high dragon so close was like a dream come true. She hadn't interacted with any dragons in years. She missed the thrill. The giant was in the process of uprooting a boulder from the ground while the dragon unleashed an ear splitting shriek of anger. The giant swung it's body, lobbing the boulder at the dragon. It connected with the dragon's horn, disorienting the beast for a split second. As it shook it's head, the giant smashed it's fists downwards, vibrating the earth all around them. Philippa's whole body shuddered as the air filled with magic. The dragon inhaled a massive breath and from it's lungs, crackling bolts of lightning shot towards the giant. If she hadn't been drenched from the rain, Philippa was certain that her hair would have stood on end from the sheer amount of electricity in the air. She inhaled deeply with her gasp and was oddly reminded of Cullen. “Petrichor,” she whispered, her hand falling to her chest as her heart raced.

“It does smell a bit odd over here,” Vivienne said with her lip curled. She completely missed Philippa's meaning and Philippa pressed her lips together and flushed, inwardly scolding herself for not having better control over her hormones. It was like she was a child. The dragon reached out it's neck and took a bite at the giant. It took a chunk from the creature's side and the giant fell to it's knees. Another blast of lightning from the dragon and the giant was dead. The dragon roared in victory and spread it's massive wings before taking off to likely return to it's nest.

After a few moments, Philippa had regained her senses and she stood from her crouch, watching the shimmering scales disappearing over the ocean. “Let's get out of here,” she said, limping away as the blisters on her feet rubbed against her boots.

By getting the Blades of Hessarian on their side on the Coast, Philippa had convinced Cullen that with them, The Chargers, and other angles that Josie had been working while they were gone, that they had garnered enough influence to at least meet with the templars. Philippa was still curious about Fiona's offer, however and she had convinced at least Cassandra by the time they rode up on Haven that they should simply go to Redcliffe and assess the situation before they made any rash decisions. Even speaking with the templars at this juncture would ensure Fiona never spoke to them.

She guided her horse towards the stables. Between the stables and Haven's front gate, Bull and his men had set up a small camp for themselves. She glanced toward the barracks where sure enough, Cullen stood, running drills with some new recruits. Their numbers were growing, she noted. The sun reached down from the sky and glinted off his cuirass as he moved, his hands resting on his sword hilt. She flashed him a smile when he glanced in her direction and his hand raised slightly in a wave. Before she could respond, a giant mass of gray flesh stepped into her vision. “Welcome back!” Bull said, his deep voice dislodging a few crows from where they had gathered on the stable's roof. His head cocked, his left horn pointing upwards as his one eye took in her still soggy appearance. “Here I've got just the thing for you, Boss.” He reached up and his massive hands wrapped around her waist encompassing her entire person with just his hands. He lifted her up and out of the saddle to set her gently on the ground while she let out a short shriek of surprise. “Krem! You got any more of that foot shit?”

Krem appeared beside Bull with a small jar in his hands. “The last jar, Chief.”

He took the jar and handed it to Philippa who was still reeling. “There. Rub that crap into your blisters and they'll be gone in a few days.”

After studying the jar, Philippa lifted her eyes to Bull's face. “How did you...?”

He let out a bellowing chuckle. “Ben-Hassrath, remember? Your face was pinched. You have just spent days slogging up and down the Coast, and you were milking that horse ride until the last second.”

“You're definitely worth the price, Bull,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you,” she indicated the jar and he stepped out of her way.

“I could carry you to your quarters?” he offered snarkily as she limped past.

“I think I can make it,” she said with another chuckle.

“Race ya, Herald!” Sera mocked as she jogged by, then giggled and ran ahead. “I win!” The raspberry left her tongue and she turned and ran through the gates as Philippa shook her head, smiling.

“You certainly outdid yourself when you accepted that one into your ranks, my dear,” Vivienne said, gliding past Philippa, her nose in the air.

As Philippa limped her way to the gates, she stole one more glance at Cullen and flushed as she realized he was still watching her. His expression was curious and he cocked his head when their eyes met. _Are you alright_? She nodded and smiled, then indicated herself and flapped her hand in front of her nose. _I just need a bath_. His adorable lopsided grin spread across his face and he lowered his eyes to shake his head before his attention was drawn away by his troops.

Philippa was never more excited to see the bathtub returned to her cabin. “Josie, I could kiss you,” she said to herself as she set the jar that Bull had given her on the desk and immediately sat in what she had deemed Cullen's chair to strip her clothing. She started with the boots, unlacing them and slowly pulling them off over her socks with a hiss. She took a moment and then decided to roll the damp socks off instead of yanking them off so every inch could scrape across her tender feet. The sock had small stains all over it from the blisters that had already burst inside the boots. Starting with the right, she slowly rolled up the fabric, revealing the awful sight beneath. Every point of her foot that came anywhere near a seam in her boots was affected, which was to say her whole foot. The skin was swollen and bubbled, waiting to burst after she allowed them to dry out. She dreaded that. The ones that had already burst were red and angry. She dropped the sock to the floor with disgust and then swapped sides, lifting her other foot to rest on her knee and again slowly peeling the sock off. This foot was no different. She hissed again as the air hit the raw flesh beneath the already burst pustules. There was no fixing that with healing magic. Bull's 'foot shit' would have to do.

With her feet liberated, she began unbuckling her leather vest and she pulled off her lightly armored gloves. The clothing was stiff underneath from the abuse of getting so wet and then being left to dry repeatedly without washings. When she was finally stripped to the skin, she touched a finger to the side of the bathtub and warmed the water so it was steaming. Her feet screamed in protest as she dipped them in the water, but the rest of her body sang in joy. The warm water was an extremely welcome change from the freezing pelting of the rain of the coast. She sank in, neck deep, and rested the back of her head on the rim of the tub. It felt wonderful to simply soak. She knew that in a few days, they would likely either be setting out for Therinfal, or back to the Hinterlands. She was going to leave the decision to the higher ups. For now all she needed was to bask.

Philippa had shamelessly bent the doubters to her will when she had suggested to kill two birds with one stone in the Hinterlands. While she was in Redcliffe to meet the mages, she could stop back at Lake Luthias to try and find the Warden that Leliana had mentioned since the Warden camps on the Coast had turned up empty. This was how she was triumphantly riding back to the Hinterlands. They reached the lake around mid afternoon and she dismounted, leaving her horse at the small waterfall camp they had established on their last visit. “So, Boss, how do we know this guy is gonna be here?”

She glanced up at Bull, her mark taking a moment to send tingles up her arm. She shook out the numbness and said, “We don't 'know' he'll be here, but Leliana is hoping we'll find him and he'll know where the rest of the Wardens are.”

“Red's info looked good when I read it. Let's hope her people are as good as she is.”

“You read her report?” Philippa asked with a smirk.

“You might want to be careful you don't wake up missing your other eye, Tiny,” Varric warned.

Bull made a noise of disagreement. “Red likes it when I translate her reports for the Ben-Hassrath. I'm teaching her a bit of Qunlat so she can spy on me, too. It's a fair exchange.” He adjusted his foot wide belt and rolled his shoulders.

“How terribly civil,” Vivienne remarked with a scowl.

“Yes, ma'am,” Bull said, visibly cowed by the much smaller woman.

“Let us go before this 'Blackwall' moves on, shall we?” Vivienne waltzed past, the sunlight catching her Hennin through the trees as she swayed her hips.

“The Iron Lady has spoken,” Varric said with a smirk as he followed behind her.

The lake was calm compared to the roaring ocean side of the Coast. Birds chirped and Philippa followed the water line until they reached a spot where she could easily hop across without dampening her boots. Her blisters had all healed magnificently with the help of Bull's salve, but she had no intention of repeating the experience if she could help it. The tip of her staff brushed the water as she went over and it sent ripples outwards to disturb the lake, creating tiny lapping waves at the edge of the dock. Wild rams and fennic meandered about until they were chased away by Bull crashing through the water and talking loudly. Her boots hit the dock and the sound joined Bull's voice to carry across the lake. She followed the wooden path to a small house that was built likely by a fisherman. To the side of the house, she found her prize. Three farmers stood nervously in a line, swords and shields grasped in their hands as they listened to the person pacing in front of them.

He was tall and lean, though you wouldn't know it to look at his armor. He sported a cuirass over top of a well padded gambeson, secured with simple wooden eyelets. The gambeson was a dark blue and both his shield and cuirass sported the griffin symbol of the Wardens. “Remember how to carry your shield. You're not hiding, you're holding. Otherwise, it's useless...”

“Blackwall?” Philippa pitched her voice to be heard, but it was hardly necessary in the quiet. “Warden Blackwall?”

The man turned his attention to her, his sharp features both angry and curious. He had neck length black hair that he had slicked back off his face and a long black beard that fell in sharp points longer than the rest on both sides. He stared daggers at her as she approached, the rest of her party falling back. “You're not... How do you know my name? Who sent...” his question was cut short as he lifted his arm and cried out a warning. An arrow embedded into his wooden shield and Philippa turned her head toward the thunking sound to see that it had been aimed at her face. “That's it! Help or get out. We're dealing with these idiots first.” He lowered his arm and ignored her thanks as he pushed past her. “Conscripts! Here they come!” He rallied the farmers and they all charged at the men who had released the arrow.

Philippa balked for a split second and then her staff was in her hands. Bull bellowed in excitement and charged at the group, his hammer smashing through two at a time. “Hey! Leave some for us, Tiny!” Varric complained.

It was over quickly and Philippa dropped her guard as soon as Bull stashed his hammer, knowing he was fully aware that there were no more bandits to attack them. Blackwall stabbed his sword into the ground at his feet and left it standing upright to kneel beside one of the bodies. He closed the man's eyes and sighed. “Sorry bastards.” He stood and approached the farmers who were amazingly all still alive. “Good work conscripts. Even if this shouldn't have happened. They could have... well, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.” Once the men had left, Blackwall turned his piercing gaze back on Philippa. “You're no farmer. Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

Philippa smirked. “That depends on who you ask.”

“Well, _I'm_ talking to you. Stop dancing,” he said crossing his arms and showing her there was no room for nonsense. His voice was gruff and mildly intimidating. “Wait, that gear. That's Inquisition.”

“And I've been asked to look into the disappearance of the Wardens in connection with the death of the Divine,” Philippa explained, impressed that he had sussed out who she was.

He started to pace. “Maker's balls. The Wardens and the Divine? That can't... No, you're asking, so you don't really know.” he paused and glanced at her. “First off, I didn't know they disappeared, but we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I'll tell you. No Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose _isn't_ political.”

“I'm not here to accuse,” Philippa said holding up her palms. “Not yet. I just need information. I've only found you. Where are the rest?”

He shrugged. “I haven't seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there's no blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. Who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I 'conscripted' their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won't need me.” His expression softened into sadness and he breathed. “Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

Philippa sighed. “Well, then, Warden Blackwall... I'll need to look elsewhere for your fellows it seems. Thank you.” Leliana was going to be disappointed, and now Philippa was even more suspicious of where the Wardens had gone. If one of their own didn't even know...

“Inquisition... agent, did you say? Hold a moment.” Philippa stopped in her tracks as Blackwall caught up to her as she walked away. “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved.” She inclined her head in agreement. Did he know something after all? “If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

Perhaps bringing him back to Haven would give Leliana a chance to work her magic on him and get a few more answers. “If you think it'll help, we welcome the extra sword,” she said with a smile.

The first smile she'd seen him crack spread across his face. “Good to hear. We both need to know what's going on, and perhaps I've been keeping to myself for too long. This Warden walks with the Inquisition.” He balled his right hand into a fist and saluted her before taking his leave when she directed him towards Haven with a scrawled note for Leliana.

They camped for the night by the waterfall and the next morning, they set off for Redcliffe. On their way to the road, Varric pointed towards the Hills. “Is that smoke?”

Sure enough, rising from the other side of the road heading south, black smoke rose high into the sky. “Sweet Maker,” Philippa gasped, taking off towards the blaze. Her companions followed after and as she panted, reaching the top of the steep incline, she was set upon by a group of three templars. Behind them, a house burned. Her staff was already in her hand. “So you like fire, do you?” She mentally drew a glyph on the ground at their feet and threw some mana into it, igniting a circle of flames beneath them. The men screamed as they danced out of the flames, but Philippa was not done. She twirled her staff in quick succession, her fingers flicking almost as quickly, the glyph appearing before her in mid air. She pushed mana through the glyph at the same time she stabbed the ground with the butt of her staff, adding a boost of power. Dozens of small angry fireballs shot like missiles from the glyph, all of them seeking a target. The templars all fell and as soon as she was convinced they were dead, she ran towards the door of the house. When she gripped the handle, the heat from inside burned her hand and she hissed, pulling it back. “It's locked.”

Varric's hand fell on her arm. “I can pick it. Give me a moment, Charmer.”

“Quick. Someone might still be alive in there,” she urged. As Varric knelt to quietly pick the lock on the heated door, Philippa felt eyes on her back. She spun to see Vivienne regarding her with scorn and Bull looking both awed and shocked. “What?” she barked

“I believe you need to get a hold of your emotions before we head to Redcliffe, my dear,” Vivienne said, crossing her arms. “That was a dangerous display of raw power.”

“I was raised in a Circle, Vivienne. I know how to control myself,” she spat back. “Do we have a problem here?”

“Done,” Varric announced and Philippa didn't wait for Vivienne to answer. She pushed open the door with her foot and stepped boldly inside. She witnessed a sight that would haunt her nightmares for weeks. Huddled in a corner were three people, all wearing mage robes, and hugging each other. Their skin had not yet been caught on fire, but they were clearly dead, slumped together. Tears streaked the woman's face. “It was locked from the inside,” Varric whispered.

Philippa choked back her own tears. “The mages locked themselves in for safety so the templars burned the house down around them... Bastards.” Philippa clenched her fists, furious as her lungs began to burn. She coughed and Varric gently pulled her back out into the fresh air, the smoke exaserbating her pounding head.

“Are we done here? Redcliffe awaits,” Vivienne asked as if she were asking where the privy was.

Varric flinched and Bull danced from one foot to the other. “A little respect _Madame de Fer,”_ Philippa spat her name. “Innocent mages died in there!”

Vivienne shrugged. “Templars died out here, my dear. A pity we could not save them, but such is the price for apostacy.”

Philippa didn't realize she was moving until she collided with Iron Bull's solid body. “Easy, Boss.” His hands were wrapped around her upper arms and even if she had wanted to struggle, she could not outclass Bull.

She glared around him at Vivienne who did not even blink. She stood with her hands on her hips and those hips cocked to the side. Philippa could have thrown magic at the Enchanter, but she refused. She had better control than to be egged on by the likes of Vivienne. _Best. Not Base._ “Come on,” she snapped, wrenching from Bull's grip and straightening her vest. “Redcliffe awaits.”

They arrived at the gates around noon, only to be greeted by the strangest Fade rift they had yet encountered. Surrounding the rift were several pockets of energy that would either speed up or slow down the passage of time when you stepped inside them. Philippa avoided the pockets as they tugged on her mana stores. Her teeth gritted together at the unpleasant tactile experience and she downed a lyrium potion to restore some of her power. The lyrium energized her and she whipped out the end of her staff to crack the skull of a nearby shade and then dropped it to the ground and arched it to release the freezing wall of ice that would spear several demons as they tried to get close to her. She had noticed that as they traveled, and she got used to using her power for extended periods, her discipline had grown significantly. She could now store more mana within herself and her spells were much more effective. She had also found herself coming to terms with what Varric called the 'grey area'. It wasn't good, it wasn't evil... It was practical. Sometimes, you just had to kill people. Perhaps that is what Vivienne saw in her... Potential for too much pride.

When she'd finally closed the rift, Philippa rubbed her stinging palm on her thigh and said, “What the Void was that?”

“This shit keeps getting weirder,” Varric agreed, storing Bianca on his back.

“I'm gonna need a drink after this,” Bull grumbled.

When the gates were opened and they entered Redcliffe, one of Leliana's people approached them. “We spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

Philippa exchanged a puzzled look with Varric who shrugged. “Well that's odd because the Grand Enchanter invited us personally. She should be waiting for us,” she said.

The man shrugged. “If she was, she hasn't told anyone. We've arranged use of the Tavern for the negotiations.”

An elven mage approached, breathless. “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies. Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn't yet arrived. He's expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

Nothing here was normal. They made their way through Redcliffe's steep streets and found their way to the Gull and Lantern. Inside was dimly lit. Not like Haven's tavern at all. Philippa blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dark after coming in from the sunny day outside. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition.” She heard the familiar voice before she saw the face it belonged to. Fiona sounded unsurprised, but curious. “ First Enchanter Vivienne...” Fiona greeted the other woman and Philippa finally regained her vision to see Fiona regarding her small group like a cat with little regard for it's life if the old saying were true.

“My dear Fiona. It's been so long since we last spoke. You look dreadful! Are you sleeping well?” Vivienne chided with both amusement and venom leaking from her lips.

“What has brought you to Redcliffe?” Fiona asked, ignoring the jab, her eyes hunting for just who might be the one she should be addressing.

Philippa stepped forward with her own look of confusion. “Well, I must be the crazy one because I remember you personally inviting us back in Val Royeaux”

Fiona cocked her head, her pointed ears making the gesture somewhat amusing. “You must be mistaken. I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the conclave.”

“I'm definitely going mad, because you and I spoke, face to face in Val Royeaux,” Philippa insisted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Are you quite certain?” Fiona rubbed her hands together nervously. “I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone...?” She sighed and lowered her eyes to shake her head in what Philippa recognized as shame. “Whoever or... whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already... pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Philippa nearly gasped as Bull grunted. “This right here is why you can't trust mages.”

Philippa heard the smirk in Vivienne's voice as she said, “Fiona, dear, your dementia is showing.”

Varric quickly added. “ Andraste's ass... I'm trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done, and I've got nothing.”

Philippa was taken aback and her mind raced as Fiona spoke again. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

“An alliance with Tevinter... That'll end well,” Philippa remarked softly as she tried to decide what to do.

“All hope of peace died with Justinia,” Fiona said sadly her face twisted in hopelessness. “This... bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we _had_ no choice. We are losing this war. I needed to save as many of my people as I could.”

Her pitiful validations were cut off by the opening and closing of the tavern door, allowing a brief respite from the darkness as a group of men entered. They were dressed in typical Tevinter stylings and Philippa squinted her eyes in suspicion. The one in the front was a middle aged man with weathered features. His hooded robes were a deep burgundy and reinforced with a scale armor shirt peeking out at the neck and sleeves. He was wearing a fabricated smile and followed by a similarly armored younger man in yellow, his hood pulled down to reveal nearly shorn black hair and a thin stubble around his mouth. Philippa noted their resemblance. The older man spoke through his false smile. No one from Tevinter could be taken lightly. “Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius,” Fiona recited formally, a slight tip to her head, dismissing herself from the conversation.

“The southern mages are under my command. And _you_ are the survivor, yes?” The way his eyes fell on Philippa with a murderous greed made her tense up. Her skin was crawling and she could sense her companions shifting behind her. She was getting tired of people looking at her like that. At least this one wasn't a demon. “The one from the Fade? Interesting.”

Philippa crossed her arms and set a disapproving scowl on the man. "Forgive me for jumping straight to business, but I've got to ask about this miraculous 'bargain' you've struck with these mages."

"Certainly," he obliged. "What specifically do you wish to know?"

"I'm not clear on when, exactly, you negotiated this arrangement with Fiona," she began.

He put on a slight pout that wrinkled the skin around his lips. "When the Conclave was destroyed, these poor souls faced the brutality of the templars, who rushed to attack them. It could only be through divine providence that I arrived when I did."

Fiona frowned angrily. "It was certainly... very timely."

"And what exactly do _you_ get out of this?" From what Philippa understood, Tevinter was usually very insular and even had mages living in the country that were treated poorly.

Alexius shrugged. "For the moment, the southern mages are a considerable expense. After they are properly trained, they will join our legion."

Fiona immediately objected. "You said not all my people would be military! There are children, those not suited..."

"And one day, I'm sure they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium. When their debts are paid," Alexius said threateningly.

Philippa recognized that her questions were causing a stir, so she pressed her lips together as Alexius' glare at Fiona faded and he returned his attention to her. She sighed inaudibly. “You're quite a long way from Tevinter, Alexius,” Philippa accused, holding her marked hand behind her back so he would stop staring at it like it would look nice on his mantle.

“Indeed I am, even if your accent says otherwise, I have heard you are no Ferelden either. It seems we are both strangers here,” he retorted then moved to seat himself at one of the long wooden tables in the common area. At least he didn't know everything about her.

Philippa matched him step for step, her hand close to her staff in case she might need it. Once she was sitting, she stared at him momentarily until he glanced at the much younger boy that had arrived with him. Philippa pegged them as family. “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners, my son Felix, friends.” The boy bowed before turning to do his father's bidding. “I am not surprised you're here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt,” Alexius said, returning his gaze to Philippa. “There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

He drew out the final word, making Philippa squirm. As she was wont to do when she got nervous, she turned to humor, shifting in her seat. “Well, when you're fighting a massive tear in the sky, you can hardly afford to think small.”

“There will have to be...” Alexius was cut off by the return of his son. The boy approached them, swaying on his feet. Instinctively, Philippa stood and moved toward him to make sure he was alright. He stumbled and fell into her outstretched arms. As she helped him regain his footing, she felt a small slip of paper being crushed into her palm. She closed her fist around it quietly as he glanced at her while his father gasped and approached. “Felix?”

“I'm so sorry,” Felix apologized, his right hand closing around Philippa's arm, but he was not by any means leaning on her. “Please forgive my clumsiness, my lady.”

“Are you alright?” Alexius asked, the confident look on his face withering to one of actual fear.

“I'm fine, father,” Felix said, gently squeezing her arm before standing a bit straighter and releasing his grip.

“Come, I'll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle.”

“I don't mean to trouble everyone,” Felix apologized again, following behind his father with one final glance over his shoulder at Philippa.

“I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.” Alexius swept away in a flurry, leaving Philippa alone with her companions and a few other tavern goers.

She lifted her hand and opened her palm to unfold the paper Felix had slipped her. Written in a flourishing hand was a warning and an invitation. “Come to the Chantry, You are in danger.”

“Oooh, very mysterious,” Varric purred, coming to stand beside her.

“There's no telling who, or what will be waiting for us in that Chantry,” she said sighing and then lowering her hand to ball up the note and toss it in the fire nearby.

“Only one way to find out.” Varric nudged her and tossed his head and she couldn't help agreeing with him.

“Let's go.”

She left the tavern with the others behind her and climbed the hill to the Chantry. There were muffled noises from behind the large doors and Bull helped her to push them open quickly. Inside they were greeted by an active Fade rift in the middle of the aisles of pews. Most of said pews had been blown towards the wall by the force of the rift opening and Philippa felt her mark spring to life along with her headache. She reached for her staff to engage the demons pouring from the rift and then noticed that they were already engaged with someone else. A gorgeous man with dusky skin and brown hair shorn to his head on the sides and styled lavishly above his ears swung a staff, beating the demons with the ends. His footwork screamed mage, but since he was not using magic, she assumed he was conserving mana for a drawn out battle. Sweat glistened on his light brown skin beneath his distinctly foreign style robes. When he turned his gaze to them, a sardonic grin appeared, and his face revealed gray-brown eyes lined lightly with kohl and a exceptionally groomed handlebar mustache coupled with a tiny patch of hair just below his bottom lip. The whole thing was topped with high cheekbones and a mildly hooked nose that made her appreciate the beauty that could come from the Northern countries, for he was obviously from Tevinter. “Oh good, you're finally here. Now help me close this thing!”

He spun to continue his fight, finally calling his magic now that he had help and Philippa and her gang sprang into action. She started with a barrier to give him a chance to back up and away from the thick of the battle where Bull needed to be. Varric continuously shot from behind one of the support pillars to her right and Vivienne looked as though she was not sure whether to kill demons or to do something about the unchecked Tevinter mage in their midst. Philippa ignored the Enchantress and flung an invisible fist into a terror demon who had portaled through the ground and knocked Bull off his feet. The Qunari quickly regained himself and ran screaming at the demon who had hit him. Philippa saw some of the wispy fog appear beneath her feet and she slid out of the way before the green crystals jutted up right where she had been standing. She quickly drew a glyph in her mind as a shade approached her, it's arm reared back to smack her with it's deadly claws. She released the magic into her staff and aimed the fireball into the shade's gut. It reared back, shrieking loudly as it was engulfed in magical flames. Another tried to take it's place, but a crossbow bolt zipped through it's head and it fell to the ground. Philippa quickly glanced around to see if there were any more, but it looked quiet. The mysterious man stood beneath the rift as if awaiting more demons, but Philippa scurried forward and lifted the mark to the rift. As the magic drew on her, her palm blazed like it was on fire. When the rift closed, she yanked her hand back and shook it to relieve the tingling from her fingers. Bits of rift rained down around the man as he turned to grin at her.

“Fascinating! How does that work exactly?” Philippa regarded him, wondering what he had to do with everything that was going on. She slightly cocked her head and frowned down at her own palm as the green glow dimmed. He chuckled, a deep rich sound that drew her eyes back to him. “You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom... rift closes.”

“Who are you?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Ah! Getting ahead of myself again, I see,” he chided himself. His voice was pleasant to listen to as he decided to grandstand. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” he gave a curt bow.

Bull grumbled from where he'd placed himself at her side. “Watch yourself... The pretty ones are always the worst.” She couldn't help but agree with his assessment of the Tevinter's looks.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” Dorian chimed in. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

“Are you a magister?” Philippa asked, wondering if his assistance might cost more than it needed to.

Dorian rolled his eyes in exasperation. “All right, let's say this once, I'm a mage from Tevinter, but _not_ a member of the Magisterium. I know southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

“You're betraying your mentor because...?” Philippa asked, ignoring the insult.

“Alexius _was_ my mentor. Meaning he's not any longer, not for some time,” Dorian corrected, shaking his head sadly. “Look, you must know there's danger. That should be obvious, even without the note. Let's start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you, as if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“He arranged it so that he could arrive here just after the Divine died?” Philippa mused, a bit shocked. Time magic was unheard of and theoretically impossible, but with the Breach, Maker knew what could be possible. She knew her own magic had been affected.

“You catch on quick,” Dorian said with an excited grin as if he were pleased to not have to explain things to her.

“Manipulating time itself? Many have attempted over the ages, but never once succeeded,” Vivienne said with a disbelieving tone laced in mocking amusement.

Dorian's smile faded as he glanced around Philippa to glare at Vivienne. “The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up, and slowed others down. Soon, there will be more like it, and they'll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it's unraveling the world.” The last was delivered with pin point seriousness as Dorian spoke directly to Philippa, choosing to ignore Vivienne and her mockery.

Philippa didn't disbelieve him, but she was finding time travel hard to wrap her head around. “I'd like a bit more proof than 'magical time control, go with it',” she said snarkily.

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “I know what I'm talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work.” He lifted his arms and rested one elbow in the opposite palm to rub his chin. “What I don't understand is why he's doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn't do it for them.” Philippa spun and saw that Felix had finally joined them.

“Took you long enough,” Dorian said, his stance relaxing and a genuine smile gracing his face. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn't have played the illness card. I thought he'd be fussing over me all day.” He turned his attention from Dorian and landed his gaze on Philippa. “My father has joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori'. And I can tell you one thing. Whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to you.”

“Exactly what does time travel and the mage rebellion have to do with me?” Philippa asked in surprise.

“They're obsessed with you,” Felix said with a shrug. “But I don't know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“ _You_ can close the rifts,” Dorian said with a thoughtful scowl. “Maybe there's a connection? Or they see you as a threat?”

“If the Venatori are behind those rifts, or the Breach in the sky, they're even worse than I thought,” Felix said with anger.

“All this for me? And here I didn't get Alexius anything,” Philippa quipped, her mind racing with possibilities. They needed to get back to Haven and talk to the others.

“Send him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those,” Dorian said with a grin. “You know you're his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage... I can't stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn't know I'm here and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you're ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I'll be in touch.” He turned with a short bow of his head to leave and then after a few steps spun to walk backwards, his palms pressed together in front of him. “Oh, and Felix, try not to get yourself killed.” Then he was gone.

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” the other man said to himself with a sigh before taking his own leave.


	26. Mage-or Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the threat of the world ripping to shreds seeming to trump the demon masquerading as the Lord Seeker, Philippa is sent to Redcliffe to meet with Alexius again, but this time she has a backup plan. With a small army infiltrating as she 'negotiates', she gains a small amount of information from Alexius and gets a 'name' for their true adversary before everything goes to shit... again.

Philippa had penned a letter to the leadership as soon as she left the Chantry and sent it ahead of them. They rode their horses hard to get back to Haven. Cullen was not at his post when they rode up to the stables and Bull took her reigns. “Go on, Boss. I'll take care of this.”

With a thanks, she took off toward the Chantry. As she jogged toward the war room, she could hear the muffled voices arguing within. “We don't have the manpower to take the castle. Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go deal with the Templars.” Cullen said, his voice grumpy.

She pushed the door open and everyone looked at her briefly as she took her usual place across from him. Cullen's eyes lingered on her a moment longer, flicking up and down her before looking away. Cassandra continued the argument as if Philippa hadn't interrupted and Philippa took the opportunity to lean on the war table and catch her breath from running in the cold mountain air. “Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It's an obvious trap,” Josephine said, pointing her quill toward Philippa.

There was a letter? He must have sent it ahead as she had her raven describing the situation. “Is it a love letter? I understand he's obsessed with me,” she asked, pushing away from the table to cross her arms.

“He's so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you,” Leliana said, her own arms crossed and a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Not this again,” Josie sighed.

Cullen was standing as he usually did, both hands resting on his sword, but his posture was anything but relaxed. “Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” He suddenly turned his gaze on her and she felt cowed as he ranted. “If you go in there, you'll die, and we'll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won't allow it.” Was he concerned for her or the mark? She frowned and cocked her hips defensively. Did he have so little faith in her survival abilities?

“And if we don't even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep,” Leliana argued, dropping her arms.

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” Josephine added. “An 'Orlesian' Inquisition's army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“The Magister...” Cassandra began.

“Has outplayed us!” Cullen growled.

“We can't just give up,” Philippa found herself injecting her opinion into the argument even though she wasn't part of the leadership. This was no longer about the mages or getting help with the Breach. The time magic was a serious threat, more serious than the demon masquerading as the Lord Seeker, and they needed to find a way to fix it. “There has to be something we can do. Alexius is ripping apart the world.”

“We cannot accept defeat now,” Cassandra agreed. “There must be a solution.”

They all glanced between each other and no one spoke up. Philippa sighed. They were all so wrapped up in their own approach to the situation that they had not thought of a compromise. “Other than the main gate, there's got to be another way into the castle...” she reached across the table in front of Cullen and spun a small map of Redcliffe. “Nobody builds a castle without an escape route.” Her days of exploring the Circles had taught her that.

“There's nothing I know of that would work,” Cullen disagreed with a sigh.

“Wait!” All eyes snapped to Leliana. “There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It's too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen disagreed again. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That's why we need a distraction,” Leliana suggested with a coy smile. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly.”

“Focus their attention on Hawke while we take out the Tevinters...” Cullen began to smirk as well. “It's risky, but it could work.”

The door swung open behind her with a loud crash. “Fortunately, you'll have help.” Dorian strode in with nothing less than a confident swagger, his sense of dramatic timing impeccable. He had removed his traveling cloak, leaving him in an intricately designed cloth ensemble lined with more leather straps and buckles than Philippa could count, and he was not carrying his staff. He gave off the air of one who was meant to be there in spite of the glares he was receiving from the Inquisition's leadership. He graced Philippa with a flirtatious smile as one of Leliana's people jogged in behind him.

“This man says he has information about the Magister and his methods, Commander.” Leliana shooed the agent with a flick of her wrist and he closed the door behind him.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius' magic without my help. So if you're going after him, I'm coming along,” Dorian insisted as he had in the Chantry.

Cullen shook his head and sighed, glancing up to look at Philippa. His voice softened. “The plan puts _you_ in the most danger. We can't, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you'd rather not play the bait. It's up to you.”

He was leaving it up to her? All eyes fell on her and she flushed. She could feel Cullen trying to stare her into submission, but she felt strangely comfortable with Dorian at her back and she straightened her stance. “I'm not comfortable leaving Alexius in Redcliffe, or allowing this time magic to go unchecked. I'll do it.”

“I will begin preparations,” Leliana said.

“I will send a missive informing the Magister that the Herald will be arriving within the week” Josephine added.

Cullen simply looked at her, his expression quizzical. She excused herself out from under the scrutiny and left the room, Dorian in tow. If she was arriving in Redcliffe 'within the week' as Josie put it, that meant she had very little time to relax before they would be on the road to the Hinterlands once more. She felt relief that Dorian was going to accompany them. That meant she could leave Vivienne here. Something about the woman was starting to irk her, although she couldn't place it. “ _I_ am returning to Redcliffe immediately if you don't mind,” Dorian said to her as they headed through the Chantry to leave. “I think someone should be monitoring the situation there.”

Philippa agreed. Alexius needed someone watching him. “Keep me informed, please,” she requested as they exited the Chantry and he split from her, likely to get his things from wherever he had left them.

“I shall do my best,” he said with a grin.

Redcliffe castle was magnificent, indeed as impressive as Cullen had portrayed. It stood atop the cliff that the village had earned it's name from, towering over the rest of the town. Everywhere you turned, there was a statue of either Andraste, or some sort of mabari or wolf. Philippa would never understand the Ferelden obsession with dogs, even coming from the country herself. After they mounted the tall entry staircase, the doors were opened and they headed into the entry hall. It was well lit and carpeted down the middle so her boots did not make a sound as she approached the greeter. He glared at them through a distinctly Tevinter helmet, tipping his head so the metal horns pointed diagonally. "Shouldn't you be telling someone we're here?" she demanded.

From behind, a Ferelden man with blonde hair and light blue eyes stepped up beside him. "The Magister's invitation was for Mistress Hawke alone. The rest will wait here." His sneer was not angry, simply haughty.

Philippa glanced back at Cassandra and Varric then shook her head as she returned her attention to the Ferelden. "I'm not going in without them. Do I look like I know a thing about negotiations?" He glared at her, and she made it clear in her body language that she was going nowhere without them.

He offered a defeated nod and turned, gesturing for them to follow. They were flanked by more armored Tevinters and Philippa immediately repositioned her hands so they were ready to draw her staff as quickly as possible. They already knew this was a trap. Being surrounded did not make her feel better.

They were led into a throne room lined with tall pillars and lit with mounted iron torches. The silencing carpeting remained as they climbed several short staircases up to where Alexius sat on a dais, Fiona standing to his left, and Felix to his right. The simple Ferelden style throne was silhouetted by a fire pit and flanked on either side by more dog statues. Philippa counted the guards lined up between the pillars and prayed Leliana had sent enough men to handle them all. She had received a playful missive from Dorian hours ago that informed her that everything was in place. They should be working their way through the tunnels as they spoke.

She paused at the foot of the dais, as she looked at Alexius. The Ferelden man turned to the side and bowed slightly. "My lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived."

Alexius stood, reaching his arms wide. "My friend! It's so good to see you again." He moved closer and without flinching, he added, "and your associates, of course. I'm sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties."

Fiona suddenly stepped forward with a sneer. "Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?"

Alexius sighed, his eyes nearly rolling. "Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives."

Philippa shrugged. “Who wouldn't trust you, Alexius? You're practically dripping with... integrity. You have one of those faces.” Sarcasm leeched through her words as her lip curled back as she looked him over.

“Yes, the Magisterium tells me that so often,” he retorted with equal gall. “Shall we begin our talks?” He turned with a grin on his face and returned to sitting in the throne, the fireplace blazing behind him. It made for an impressive form of intimidation, if Philippa cared to be scared of the man. Which she wasn't. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach and _I_ have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?” He believed he held all of the cards, his elbows resting on the arms of the throne and his fingers steepled before his lips.

Philippa stepped boldly forward. “My firstborn? If that's not good enough, perhaps I'll just leave with the mages. That seems fair enough to me. All of their freedom in exchange for you going back home?”

“And how do you imagine you'll accomplish such a feat?” Alexius remarked, thinking he was more clever than her.

"She knows everything, Father," Felix interrupted.

Alexius' grin shattered and his head swung to his son. "Felix," he hissed. "What have you done?"

Philippa boldly took a few steps closer, “We made sure to disarm your trap before we came in. I hope you don't mind,” she said with a smirk.

“I've yet to see your cleverness, I'm afraid,” Alexius said. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don't even understand, and think you're in control... You're nothing but a mistake.” He spat standing to gain height on them.

Philippa's stomach flipped. Did Alexius know something about the mark? She clenched her fist over the mark and glared at him. “I'm a mistake, am I? Then what exactly was the point of the Breach? What was supposed to happen?”

“It was to be a triumphant moment for the Elder One. For this world.” Alexius preached.

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix begged, approaching his father. “Do you know what you sound like?”

Philippa's muscles relaxed when she heard Dorian speak up from behind her, indicating that he and Leliana's people had made it through the tunnels. “He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.”

“Dorian,” Alexius sighed. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from it's own ashes.”

“So you're just a puppet? Who is the Elder One?” Philippa demanded as Dorian sidled up by her side. Both Cassandra and Varric had kept back to allow her space and keep eyes on the Venatori circling the room. “The one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?”

“Soon, he will become a god,” Alexius growled. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You can't involve my people in this!” Philippa had almost forgotten Fiona as she concentrated on the danger of Alexius and his men. The Grand Enchanter was furious.

Dorian offered his hands in a pleading gesture, his rings shimmering in the firelight. "Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?"

Alexius turned from Dorian, and Felix placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stop it, Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach, and lets go home."

Alexius turned, dislodging Felix's hand. "No! It's the only way, Felix. He can save you!"

Felix took a step back and his lip curled. "Save me?"

"There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple..." he set a glower on Philippa.

Felix sighed. "I'm going to die. You need to accept that."

Alexius ignored Felix's words. "Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman's life!"

As he pointed at her, the already dead Venatori began to drop as her people let the corpses fall. "Oops... Did we kill your cultists? Sorry," she declared victoriously.

"You... are a mistake! You never should have existed!" He lifted a glowing amulet, green like the rifts, and it began to float above his palm as he chanted.

Dorian sprang into action, his magic flaring as he swept his staff into his hands and sliced it upwards through the air. "No!" he shouted, his magic ripping through whatever Alexius was doing and making the man stumble backwards.

A large blast of magic burst in Philippa's face. She felt a tugging at her navel that churned her stomach as the world fell out from under her. She didn't have time to scream, even as much as she wanted to, before she fell heavily to the ground with a splash. Choking out the breath of water she'd taken, she pushed to her knees as she heard someone call out. “Blood of the Elder One! Where'd they come from?”

'They'... So she wasn't alone. In spite of the coughing, she forced herself to call on her magic before she could be attacked. She threw up a barrier and heard a sharp clang as a sword bounced off the invisible shield. A hand grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. She sloshed backwards in the calf deep water away from the direction of the voices of her attackers, her arms flailing for balance. “Get a hold of yourself, will you. I could use a hand.” That was Dorian.

She gathered her wits and tried to stifle her cough. Even as she regained her breath, she could still cast. She drew from her mana reserves and found them drained, so she reached for her staff. The familiar weight felt good in her hands. She whipped it up, using it's weight to knock back the swordsman coming for her. In the second that bought her, she then spun it around so the head was facing him, catching the stumbling man off guard, pinning him to the wall through his neck with the sharp wings of the dragon. The second attacker fell to Dorian who used the mace-like attachment at the head of his staff to break the man's jaw and then cave in his skull. She bent over, leaning on her staff as she gasped, hacking a few more times to stop the burning in her chest.

The ache in her head had increased tenfold, and she pressed the heel of her hand into her eye socket, trying to alleviate the pressure. Where the bloody Void were they?

Dorian took on his thoughtful stance, arms crossed and one finger on his lips as he looked around. "Displacement? Interesting." He moved away with a frown, twirling his staff and reading the air around them. "It's probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us... to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?" he knelt.

"We were in the castle hall, and then we were here," she recalled, slowing her breathing and regaining her control, her head still aching. How could Dorian think so clearly after whatever had happened? She frowned around the pain. Upon further inspection of her surroundings, they were definitely not in the throne room anymore. The small room they now occupied along with two Venatori corpses floating in the water looked like a dungeon cell. The most disturbing thing she laid her eyes on happened to be large crystals of red lyrium growing from the walls. She stepped closer to Dorian and away from the walls, her side humming uncomfortably.

He stood again, still looking around curiously. "Let's see. If we're still in the castle, it isn't... Oh! Of course! It's not simply where... it's when!" he said excitedly. "Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!"

"Well, shit, that... doesn't sound good," she said skeptically, flinching at the loudness of his voice.

"It sounds _terrible_ ," he agreed. "Depending on when we are and what happened while we were away. Let's look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back... if we can."

"We weren't exactly alone in the hall," she reminded him. "Could the others gotten sucked into the rift, as well?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it was large enough to bring the whole room through. Alexius wouldn't risk catching himself or Felix in it. They're probably still where, and when, we left them. In some sense anyway."

Wondering if when Alexius had offered Dorian a place in the Venatori he had explained anything, she asked, "Alexius mentioned an 'Elder One' in the hall. Do you know who he was talking about?"

Dorian shrugged languidly. "Leader of the Venatori, I suspect. Some magister aspiring to godhood. It's the same old tune." He put on a voice, his words falsely giddy. " 'Let's play with magic we don't understand. It will make us incredibly powerful!' Evidently, it doesn't matter if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process."

"You reacted pretty quickly when he pulled out that amulet. Do you know what Alexius was trying to do?" she wondered. Dorian had been quick to counter whatever it was.

"I believe his original plan was to remove you from time completely. If that happened, you would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes or mangled the Elder One's plan. I think your surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild, and here we are. Make sense?"

She blinked at him. "Nothing seems to make sense right now, but I get it. It just seems so insane."

He nodded. "I don't even want to _think_ about what this will do to the fabric of he world. We didn't 'travel' through time so much as punch a hole through it and toss it in the privy. But don't worry. I'm here. I'll protect you." He patted her shoulder teasingly and she rolled her eyes, turning her head at the flush in her cheeks. Was he... flirting with her? It had been so long since she had experienced it. She couldn't be certain.

"And what happens if we _can't_ get back?" She asked, enjoying the warm feeling the potential for a distraction from Cullen brought to her chest.

"Then we get comfortable in our new present."

Dorian seemed to like the sound of his own voice, but Philippa really didn't mind. His constant prattling kept the Lyrium song from getting inside her head and when he spoke low enough, his voice helped her head focus on something besides the pain in her skull. They discussed a few plans as they worked their way through the maze of the dungeons. Dorian finally made his own observation. "Alexius really did a number on this place."

She frowned and glanced over at him. "I never saw this part of the castle."

He chuckled. "It was covered in the tackiest carvings of wolves and dogs that I've ever seen. This... is not an improvement."

They came to a large open room with three doors leading out. The two on either side of them were guarded by Venatori, and the third across the room was separated by a drawbridge. It was a pretty effective way to keep prisoners from leaving the dungeons. Dorian launched a bolt of spirit energy toward the guard on their left, and one of her spells took out the man on the right. They headed right first. Through the door was more cells that went deeper into the new section of dungeon. She was just about to turn and try the other direction when she grabbed Dorian's arm and pulled him to a stop.

She could hear a faint voice mumbling through one of the doors. When she opened it and stepped inside, the voice became clearer and her heart skipped. She'd recognize Varric's voice anywhere. He was always complaining or telling a story. “Andraste's sacred knickers...you're alive?” he said upon seeing her. He had a faint red glow hovering around his chest, and his eyes had a small glow of red to them as they widened in shock. “Where were you? How did you escape?” he asked coming towards her as she opened his cell with some keys that Dorian handed her. She saw him consider hugging her but then he backed off, veering around her to a chest nearby where he reached in and pulled out Bianca.

“We didn't escape,” Dorian corrected. “Alexius sent us into the future.”

He turned around after fondly caressing his hands over the crossbow. “Everything that happens to you is weird,” Varric said with a chuckle.

“You might be right about that,” she said with a shrug.

“I'm always right. And when I'm not, I lie about it,” he said with a wink. Same old Varric. “So, what are you doing here? Or did you come back just to trade quips with me?”

“We get to Alexius, and I just _might_ be able to send us back to our own time. Simple, really.” Dorian said cheerfully.

“That... may not be as easy as you think,” Varric said hesitantly. “Alexius is just a servant. His 'Elder One' assassinated the Empress and led a demon army in a huge invasion of the south. The Elder One rules everything. What's left of it, anyway. Alexius... is really not the one you need to worry about.”

“Assassinations, invasions and demon armies?” Philippa shook her head. “I'm glad I missed all that.”

“Yeah, you lucked out there.” Varric's amused expression turned sour. “You wanna take on Alexius, I'm in. Let's go.”

"Do you know if Cassandra is here anywhere?" Philippa wondered.

Varric shrugged. "They kept us separated. If the Seeker's still alive, she'll be in the dungeons somewhere."

Philippa set off, checking every room until she found Cassandra. Like Varric, the Seeker was surrounded in the sickly hue of red lyrium poisoning. She was reciting verses from the Chant of Light, sitting on the dank and dirty floor of her cell. When Philippa approached, Cassandra barely deigned to look up at her. "You've returned to us. Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?" She looked away and buried her face in her hands. "Maker forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us of the dead return to life."

Philippa softly scoffed. "I'm not back from the dead Cassandra. I just got... well, this is hard to explain," she said, tripping over her words.

"I was there. The Magister obliterated you with a gesture," Cassandra gasped.

"Alexius sent us forward in time," Dorian said gently. "If we find him, we may be able to return to the present."

"Go back in time?" Cassandra stood eagerly as Philippa fumbled the keys and opened her cell so she could come out. "Then... can you make it so that none of this ever took place?"

"If Dorian is right, and can actually reverse the spell, then yes," she replied glancing at the mage in question.

"Alexius' master..." Cassandra flinched. "After you died, we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards... it was a horde of demons."

"I told you so," Varric said, rolling his shoulders.

"Nothing stopped them," Cassandra said. "Nothing."

Philippa frowned and rubbed her forehead, guilt settling on her shoulders. "I should have been there to help you."

"You're here now," Cassandra said hopefully, moving to collect her sword and shield as Varric had Bianca.

With her dying friends, they headed back toward the drawbridge to see if the left door held a way to bring it down. All they found there was Fiona, lodged in the corner of a cell, the lower half of her body crystallized into Red Lyrium. She looked at them, her eyes laced with pain. "You're... alive? How?" she asked in a breathy voice. "I saw you... disappear... into the rift."

"What's the date?" Philippa asked, her mind struck dumb by the fact that Fiona was turning into Red Lyrium. "I need to know how much time has passed." Would that have eventually happened to her if she had not been able to leech the lyrium from her wound? She rubbed at the tingling scar on her side.

"Harvestmere... 9:42 Dragon," Fiona managed.

"Nine forty- _two_? Then we've missed an entire year," Dorian gasped.

"We have to get out of here, go back in time," Philippa insisted. She needed to take all of this information back with her if she wanted to keep her friends alive.

"Please..." Fiona begged, accepting her words. "stop this from happening. Alexius... serves the Elder One. More powerful... than the Maker... No one... challenges him and lives."

Philippa looked over at Varric and Cassandra and fury surfaced. She clenched her fists and snarled. "That magister's going to regret he didn't just kill me."

"Our only hope," Dorian said thoughtfully. "Is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here. If it still exists, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe."

"Good," Fiona said triumphantly.

"I said _maybe_ ," Dorian reiterated. "It might also turn us into paste."

"You _must_ try," Fiona pleaded. "Your spymaster, Leliana... She is here. Find her. Quickly... before the Elder One... learns you're here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A the risk of leaving the chapter too long, I split it in two, but I think my faithful readers will be glad to see what little creative license I have take in the next part. :-)


	27. Fallen Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second half of Philippa's jaunt through time.

Finding nothing to lower the bridge, Philippa suggested she and Dorian try magic, so they headed back to the bridge. Before they got up there, however, Dorian gasped. "If red lyrium is an infection... Maker, why is it coming out of the walls?"

"Are you sure you want to find out?" she asked, shuddering at the sheer amount of crystals that were jutting from everywhere.

A stroke of luck in the form of Venatori guards hit them when they arrived at the bridge. It had been lowered and a group of Tevinters swarmed the metal platform they stood on, trying to prevent them from escaping.

Cassandra and Varric needed no help from her and Dorian as they slaughtered the guards swiftly after Maker knew how many months of pent up anger and frustration as the world fell apart around them. "I wonder where they're holding Leliana," Philippa wondered as she stepped over the body of a mage and onto the stairs up.

“There's a lovely upper floor to the dungeons,” Varric informed her. “It's where they do their interrogations.”

Up the stairs on the other side of the drawbridge, they came across an open area furnished with tables and chairs. They must have killed the skeleton crew because no guards were even sleeping in the quarters when they went hunting for any supplies that might aid them. The path through the upper dungeons led them in a circular pattern that continuously rose upwards. How far below ground had they been? They poked their heads into every room they passed by, finding a room or two occupied by Venatori mages and soldiers torturing and murdering Chantry clerics.

In one such room, Philippa nearly felt her heart ripped out of her chest. They poked their heads in to see if Leliana was there, and initially, it was empty. She almost pulled the door closed behind her when she caught the scent of honeysuckle so faint she thought she was smelling things. Instinctively, she pushed the door open again and glanced around. In the far back corner, hunched in the darkness of the cell that was housed behind a torture table, there was a mass of flesh and red lyrium. She tipped her head and caught a glimpse of movement, brief and subtle. It was breathing. She cautiously approached, the others hanging back to make sure they weren't flanked while she investigated. The closer she got, the more details stood out and the faster her heart raced. A slip of red cloak, pale flesh fused and grown over the shine of a cuirass, a tuft of black fur from the mane of his cloak. She got as close to the cell as she could and placed her hands on the bars, looking in at the monster inside. There was nothing left of the man other than the twisted and corrupted body pierced by shards of red lyrium that were growing from his skin. "Commander?" she whimpered, her voice betraying her.

His head snapped up and she took a step back, her breath catching in her throat as she choked on the cry of confirmation when she saw the sparkle of amber amidst the red. He squished himself further into the corner when he saw her and he turned his head away. He was curled into the fetal position around the mangled remains of his once pristine body. She fished the ring of keys from her belt, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she suddenly couldn't see properly. She sniffed and fumbled, dropping the keys. She let out a sob as she dropped to her knees to pick them up again and fitted several keys into the lock, none of them working. He had turned to look at her again, rocking on his heels.

"I don't have the key," she admitted, barely able to push the words from her lips. "Cullen, I'm sorry. I don't have the key." At the sound of his name, his eyes widened. Then as if he recognized she was trying to help him, he shifted slightly away from the wall. His head tipped toward the outside of the cell and she followed his sight-line. She whimpered again as she realized he was looking at a barrel of weapons. "No... No, you can't."

The corrupted ex-templar managed to twist his expression into the exasperated look he always gave her when she was being thick or stubborn and tipped his head toward the barrel again. She sagged against the bars of the cell and closed her eyes, feeling the tears dripping down her cheeks. A soft grunt escaped his throat and she jumped. She couldn't stay here. If she did, the Cullen back in her time would end up just like this Cullen. There was no way she could allow that to happen.

She dragged herself to her feet and went to the barrel. She reached in and took a dagger from the top and slowly went back to kneel in front of the cell. She held the dagger out and he scrambled to her stiffly, grunting with every movement as if his insides were crystallized into lyrium. He reached for the dagger, but she pulled it back. "I could do it," she offered gently. His head shook wildly, his eyes bugging from their sockets. She understood, and she sighed, tipping the hilt of the dagger toward him again. He took it with his gnarled hand and she wrapped her hands around the bars. She knew how avidly he believed in the Maker, and she looked him in the eyes. "May the Maker guide your path, Cullen."

He held the dagger over his chest and then grunted again, whipping his head in a gesture that said, _Get out of here. I don't want you to see this._ Hands fell on her shoulders and she looked up to see Dorian looking down at her with sympathy. "Let's leave him to take care of his business..."

Philippa glanced one final time at Cullen and then allowed Dorian to pull her to her feet. They left the room and he pulled the door closed behind them. Philippa couldn't help turning into the man, burying her face in his shoulder. He was practically a stranger, but he immediately hugged her close, gently running his shimmery, ringed, fingers through her hair and quieting her with his humming voice. She took a moment to gather herself before pulling away and thanking him with a bitter smile. "Let's get this over with," she choked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Finally as they neared the top, Philippa hoped, they heard a raised voice, Tevinter in accent, that shouted. “How did Hawke know of the sacrifice at the Temple?” There was a pause as Philippa jogged toward the closed door. “You _will_ break.”

As she pushed open the door, Leliana's voice came, strained. “I will _die_ first.” When Philippa and the others burst through the door, the lone interrogator spun to face them, the dagger he'd had to Leliana's throat flashing. “Or _you_ will.” Leliana used her strength to lift her legs and wrap them around his neck. He struggled momentarily, but the spymaster's thighs closed around his windpipe. There was a sickening crunch as his neck broke and he slumped to the ground. Leliana sagged in her chains, dangling from the ceiling by her wrists. Philippa rushed over to her, stepping over the body of the Venatori and grabbing the ring of keys that shone, exposed, on his belt. She supported Leliana as she unlocked the shackles on her wrists. “You're alive...”

Leliana was a shell of her former self. She did not glow with Lyrium poisoning as Cassandra and Varric did, but her eyes and cheeks were sunken and hollow. The striking woman had been reduced to skin and bones. Her voice was dry and raspy where it had once been the soft and gentle melody of a bard. She momentarily leaned on Philippa as she regained her footing and then pushed gently away to stand on her own. “You're safe now,” Philippa soothed as Leliana looked on her with awe.

The redhead shook her head. “Forget 'safe'. If you came back from the dead, you need to do better than 'safe'. You need to _end_ this,” she spat. “Do you have weapons?” Philippa nodded as Leliana turned away and began rooting through the rows of chests lining the walls of the torture chamber. “Good, the Magister's probably in his chambers.”

“You... aren't curious how we got here?” Dorian asked, eager for any chance to explain what they'd discovered since landing in the future.

“No.” Leliana came up with a bow and quiver full of arrows which she strapped to her back and approached them again.

“Alexius sent us into the future,” Dorian said anyway. “This, his victory, his Elder One... It was never meant to be.”

“I'm so sorry for everything you suffered,” Philippa said laying a gently restraining hand on Dorian's forearm to stop him talking as Leliana's blazing eyes fell on him in disgust.

“We have to reverse his spell,” Dorian sighed, his excitement dimmed at Philippa's touch. “If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

“And mages always wonder why people fear them,” Leliana spat. It was completely out of character for her to say anything derogatory against mages. She had even shared with Philippa that she wished mages to have their freedom. “No one should have this power.”

“It's dangerous and unpredictable,” Dorian agreed. “Before the Breach, nothing we did...”

“Enough!” Leliana growled. “This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will _never_ exist! I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was _real_.” She spun and headed for the exit.

She started from the room, rushing them forward. It was awkwardly silent while they made their way out of the dungeons. Finally Dorian asked, "What happened while we were away?"

"Stop talking," Leliana snapped.

"I'm just asking for information," Dorian said innocently.

"No. You're talking to fill silence. Nothing happened that you want to hear."

Philippa exchanged glances with Dorian and continued following at a distance. Leliana apparently knew the way. A weight began pressing down on Philippa as they got closer to the surface, the blazing migraine even worse than before. The bard led them to an underground dock carved into the mountain by the lake itself. Towards the rear of the dock, a woman stood over a bleeding man crouched inside a glyph drawn by blood. “The Magister needs more power for his rituals!”

The man pleaded for his life, but Philippa felt the flare of great energy as the woman drew on his blood to power her spell. Philippa cringed as the energy snaked over her skin and the man seemingly turned inside out, the demon the mage had summoned clawing it's way to the surface. It was a demon of rage. It's lava-like skin seeped around the mage who had neglected to raise a confinement spell to keep it in check. She screamed as her body melted in the extreme heat of it's presence. Once she was gone, the demon turned it's attention on them. Philippa pulled her staff and quickly prepared a winter's grasp spell. The demon's pool of lava beneath it absorbed the ichor that the mage had left behind, its own body growing in size. Philippa tipped her staff in the direction of the demon and unleashed the winter's grasp. The demon slowed it's advance, but it didn't stop. She quickly summoned more mana from her core and mimed a glyph in the air before her. Calling the cool energy of her ice magic, she pressed it through the glyph like water through a strainer. The energy burst through the glyph in dozens of fist sized balls of ice that rocketed into the demon as she threw her arms out to the sides, drawing in more power from the air around her. Finally, the demon froze under the barrage and Cassandra was able to smash it with her shield. Philippa dropped her arms, staring at the bits of the demon scattered around her as they slowly evaporated into a mist. “Alexius couldn't have wanted this,” Dorian mumbled, his tone both horrified and sad.

Leliana did not stop to allow him to mourn. She hurried them along around the docks and up to a wide open courtyard. Philippa soon realized what the sensation of a great weight pressing on her had been. “The Breach!” she gasped. “It's...”

“Everywhere...” Dorian finished for her as they stared up at the sickly green glow that permeated everything around them. The rear entry of the castle stood before them, the building looking as if it had seen better days. The walls were broken and crumbled. The supercharged air left bits of the broken stone floating as if held up by invisible strings that disappeared into the sky. A massive statue of Andraste had been broken apart, the mantle of the prophet hovering in the air, one of her hands floating before her, beckoning as if calling out to them to join her in the abyss of the tainted sky. Philippa's palm ignited like a blaze as it reacted to the enormity of the Breach. Agony laced her nerves and she bit back a cry.

“It used to be just dwarves who were afraid of the sky. Now, it's just good sense,” Varric grunted bitterly.

An active rift hovered above them in the courtyard and Philippa summoned her strength to fight through the pain and numbness warring to take over rights to her arm. Nearly as soon as the demons were defeated and the rift sealed, she spotted another only a few meters away in their path to the castle. The rifts had never shown up so close to each other in their time. They needed to succeed and get back to their time. She couldn't fail Cassandra and the others. She couldn't fail Cullen. They needed to end this.

Back inside the castle, the stone walls gave her some sense of protection, the mark calming. She was starting to recognize where Leliana was leading them from what she remembered of the schematics that Cullen had shared with her on the castle's layout. Another rift awaited them in the entry hall, guarded by both demons and Venatori alike. They were working in tangent. With over a dozen enemies, Philippa was glad she had some lyrium potions still on her belt. She felt drained and woozy after the mark sealed the rift. The throne room was just ahead if that was indeed where Alexius had hidden himself. She knelt beside the Venatori leader and fished through his robes for a key since the door was likely locked. Instead of a key, she found a small stone carved out of red lyrium and coated in an oily film. She was loathe to touch it. “What in Andraste's name is that?!” Dorian exclaimed as she held it up in her palm to get a better look at it. “Hold onto it... I want to look at it later.”

She slipped the stone into a pocket of her vest and stood. “Let's go get Alexius,” she said with a sigh.

Something was different. The door to the throne room was not the one she remembered from before. There were no more Mabari carvings. All that stood out on the door were several swirling gyphs and other arcane carvings that she did not recognize.

"Maker's breath!" Dorian gasped as he ran a hand over the door that had no handle or pickable lock. "Where did Alexius find this? How did he even move it here?"

"Can we open it?" she asked.

"Perhaps," Dorian mused. "But it looks quite strong. How desperate and paranoid must he be? His servants must have a way through. He has to eat. Let's look around."

Philippa ran her fingers over the glyphs, her eyes closed, trying to feel for a clue in the magic that might tell her how to open the door. For her efforts, all she got was another headache from the absolute foulness of the energy that flowed from the door. Her middle finger slipped into a deep groove nestled in the center of the door. She opened her eyes to gaze at the hole and it somehow seemed familiar. She reached into the pocket where she had tucked the stone and her eyes flicked from the stone to the groove. It was so obvious, she could have kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. She pressed the stone into the groove and stepped back. When nothing happened, she frowned. “That should have worked.”

Dorian stepped up beside her again. “Look there.” he pointed. “There are more grooves, which means we need find the other stones.”

She sighed. “Alexius probably spread them out among his generals.”

It took them nearly an hour to locate and obtain the other four stones. When she had pocketed the last one, Philippa practically ran back to the entry hall. She had a gut wrenching feeling that they were running short on time. She carefully placed the stones in the grooves and watched as they began to resonate. One by one, they lit up and the magic flowed from them to activate the glyphs. The door swung open on it's own and Philippa and the others carefully entered the throne room.

Standing behind the throne and staring into the fire was Alexius. She thought he was alone until movement in the darkened corner beside the fire drew her eye. Crouched low was a creature that looked as if it had endured the pain of hundreds of broken bones. It shied from the fire even as it rocked toward it for the warmth. No hair grew from it's wrinkled head but patchy hair clung to its face where a beard had once been. Philippa swallowed as she recognized the vibrant yellow robes, now dingy from the passage of time. She looked away from the monstrosity as her heart sunk for Dorian. “You know, Redcliffe Castle is bigger than it looks. I had to search high an low for your little red lyrium keystones,” Philippa said, setting her attention on the task at hand, and trying to ignore the abomination.

“There's no longer anywhere to run,” the man said. His posture and the tone of his voice belied the defeat he likely felt. “I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn't destroyed you.” he took a deep sigh, still staring into the fire. “My final failure.”

“Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world? To yourself?” Dorian asked, his own sadness mirroring his former mentor's. She did not think he had noticed the crouched figure yet.

“It doesn't matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.” Alexius said softly.

“I'll admit, I was hoping for a bit more fight out of you. All of this sulking is kind of a let down,” Philippa pointed out, her body tensing as she tried to figure out if his behavior was indicative of a trap.

“Alas, I am not the foe you remember,” he said with a sigh. “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death, there is nothing else. The Elder One comes... For me, for you, for us all.”

Philippa's blood turned to ice. The Elder One was coming? Before she could question him further, Leliana appeared like smoke behind the figure dressed in yellow and grabbed him by the collar. She pressed a knife to his throat, and he had barely a reaction. Her aggression stirred Alexius though. The man spun to face her, his hand raised in fear, reaching for his son. “Felix!” he cried.

Dorian took a step forward. “That's Felix?! Maker's Breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

“He would have _died_ , Dorian. I _saved_ him,” Alexius spared a glance at them before returning his frightened gaze to Leliana. “Please, don't hurt my son. I'll do anything you ask.”

“Hand over the amulet, and we let him go,” Philippa said, not all together certain that the broken Leliana of this time would honor her words.

“Let him go and I swear you'll get what you want,” Alexius pleaded.

“I want the world back,” Leliana growled and drug the knife across the helpless boy's throat. Philippa looked away, her heart sinking as she realized that with Alexius' cry of rage they were going to have to fight him for the amulet, all while the Elder One drew closer.

Alexius slammed his staff into the ground, a wave of power releasing to knock Leliana back off the dais. Philippa scrambled to avoid the spell as she drew her own staff. She took a deep breath and began stacking spell after spell inside the long wooden shaft so she could call upon them quickly. She hid herself behind a large pillar to the side of the room, cursing Leliana for mucking up a perfectly good plan. This wasn't Leliana, though. Not really. She craned her neck around the pillar to get a look at the battlefield that had erupted in the great hall. Alexius was avoiding Cassandra and Varric easily as he used his magic to Fade step from one side of the room to the other. She felt her mark reacting as Alexius stopped to cast another spell. At the top of the stairs that led up to the dais, a rift flung open with the sound of ripping fabric. The warmth of the air from the Fade seeped out into the room followed by a fair amount of demons. Philippa wasted no time, staunching the lash of pain from the sudden presence of the demons. She stepped out from behind the pillar and targeted one of the shades making it's way toward Dorian. She wrapped her hand in a fist and tugged downwards as if she were grabbing the air and pulling it down. The demon flattened under the weight of her spell and she moved on to another. When the demons stopped coming, she realized that Alexius had used the rift as a distraction to recharge his spells as he hid behind a barrier on the dais. She closed the rift and redirected her spells onto Alexius. The barrier blocked any projectiles she threw at him, so she switched tactics. She was in the middle of visually drawing a glyph beneath his feet when Dorian dispelled the barrier and wiped away the work she had started. He cringed as he realized his mistake, but she shrugged it off and began hurtling spirit bolts at Alexius using both ends of her staff, the centrifugal motion allowing her to simultaneously charge a chained lightening spell. As soon as she had focused the spell into her staff, she slammed the butt of it to the ground. Sparks jumped from the ground at her feet and were carried through the earth to another glyph at his feet. From the sky lightning struck him where he stood and he seized. Cassandra lunged for him, but he recovered surprisingly quickly and Fade stepped down toward the doorway. He pulled open another rift, so he could regroup. Philippa was on to him, but the demons that poured from the rift did not allow her to focus her attention on hounding him while he attempted to recharge. Again, she closed the rift and refocused on Alexius. Her lightening spell had really taken it out of him. He was leaning on his staff and his barrier wavered. Dorian took a step back and allowed her to complete her glyph this time. When it was drawn, she pulled the earth up under his feet and knocked him down, his barrier falling as he lost concentration. Cassandra was ready this time. She ran at Alexius and swung her shield upwards. The heavy weapon collided with the Magister's chin, lifting him off the ground as the crunch of breaking bones echoed through the now silent throne room.

All of the sounds of battle died as Alexius' body hit the ground. A crossbow bolt whizzed past Philippa to embed itself in Alexius' skull for good measure. She brushed her hair from her eyes as it tried to fall in her face. Dorian calmly approached his dead mentor and knelt to search his robes. “He wanted to die, didn't he? All those lies he told himself, the justifications... He lost Felix long ago and didn't even notice. Oh, Alexius...”

Dorian stood, the amulet in his hand and a broken heart in his chest. “This Alexius was too far gone,” Philippa said, her palm finding it's way to rest comfortingly on Dorian's shoulder. He had seen her through the encounter with Cullen's corrupted future self. The least she could do was understand. “But we might still reach the Alexius we left back in the past.”

“I suppose that's true,” Dorian agreed with a bitter smile. He held up the prize from Alexius' robes. “This is the same amulet he used before. I think it's the same one we made in Minrathous. That's a relief... Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

Dorian headed to stand where they had been when Alexius' original spell had hit them. Leliana approached in a panic. “An hour?! That's impossible! You must go now!”As if punctuating her urgency, the building rumbled, some of the stones of the ceiling shaking loose to crumble around their feet. “The Elder One...”

“You have to hurry. This... is bad,” Varric added. Philippa watched as he and Cassandra exchanged determined glances and nodded in agreement. “We'll hold the main door. Once they break through, it's all you, Nightingale.”

“You're just going to throw yourselves at an army of demons? You'll be killed!” Philippa choked. She had already lost Cullen. Wasn't that enough?

“Look at us. We're already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes,” Leliana insisted. Cassandra and Varric were already half way out the door. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

She drew an arrow and aimed it for the doors that Cassandra and Varric had closed behind themselves. Within minutes, a great ruckus sounded outside the doors and Leliana began to recite a portion of the Chant of Light. Dorian already had the amulet hovering in the air between them as Philippa watched. _Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame._ The doors burst open and one of the tall lanky demons of terror dragged Varric's mangled corpse through the door and tossed it to the ground. Leliana was already shooting. Arrow after arrow flying with precision. _Andraste guide me. Maker, take me to your side._ An arrow came from the other side, piercing Leliana's shoulder and staggering her. Dorian grabbed Philippa's arm as she felt herself twitch forward to help. "You move, and we all die!" he shouted. He dragged her back into place and went back to his spell which had produced a swirling portal much like she remembered Alexius' looking. She watched Leliana fighting, tooth and nail while she remained glued to the spot. A Tevinter grabbed Leliana in a choke hold and held her for the demon who had dragged in Varric. Philippa watched in horror as it slashed her open, her guts spilling out onto the floor just as the portal sucked them through.

Much like before, the world spun, and she staggered, her stomach lurching. "You'll have to do better than that," Dorian snarked as the magic cleared and Alexius stood but a few feet away.

Philippa charged toward him and the man dropped to his knees in defeat. What he had made her witness would haunt her dreams for some time. “Put aside all claim to Redcliffe, and we let you live,” she growled, reciting her litany in the back of her mind so she didn't smash him right then and there. _Best. Not base._

Alexius hung his head and sighed. “You won. There is no point extending this charade.” He glanced up at his son and the boy approached him, crouching at his side. “Felix...”

“It's going to be alright, father,” the boy soothed.

“You'll die,” Alexius sobbed.

“Everyone dies,” Felix said, then stood as Inquisition guards surrounded Alexius and led him off.

“Well, I'm glad that's over with!” Dorian said with a smirk, the chipper attitude an obvious mask. Before Philippa could question him however, the door burst open and dozens of soldiers marched into the room, their shining armor adorned with Ferelden embellishments. They lined themselves up along the pillars, ignoring the Tevinter bodies on the floor. The clanking of their armor was enough to give anyone a headache and Philippa was relieved when they stopped to stand at attention. “Or not,” Dorian's brow rose in question.

A fair haired man in his early thirties waltzed into the room, strolling along as if he were listening to a tune. He carried himself with a regal air if not an altogether serious one. He was dressed in simple fur lined leathers, but their color perfectly matched his golden hair. He paused to glance around at the room, his eyes drinking in the scene, the corpses that his men had ignored included. Philippa vaguely thought she had seen him somewhere before, but after what she had just been through, her memory was a little sluggish. His hands clasped behind his back and he spoke, his voice pitched for all to hear. “Grand Enchanter. Imagine how surprised I was to learn you'd given Redcliffe castle away to a Tevinter Magister.”

Fiona scurried up to him, her own hands nervously twisting around each other, her head bowed. “King Alistair!” Philippa barely managed to clamp her mouth shut instead of blurting her surprise out in a few chosen obscenities. It dawned on her that he had been the warrior that had helped Solona to free Kinloch during the Blight, now her apparent lover. Solona had lucked out, it seemed, if the rumors were true.

“Especially since I'm fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan,” he continued, his neck stiff and one brow raised.

“Your Majesty,” Fiona fumbled. “we never intended...”

“I _know_ what you intended,” the King growled, not in anger, but what sounded like disappointment. “I wanted to help you, but you've made it impossible.” he let out a deep sigh and his voice lowered. “You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

Fiona gasped. “But... We have hundreds who need protection. Where will we go?”

Philippa stepped forward, having understood that, with only Cassandra there as any sort of leadership, the recruitment of the mages had fallen to her. She cleared her throat and the King's eyes fell on her. She knew the curious look very well, having seen it on Cullen numerous times. He had once been a templar, this King. “I should point out that our original purpose in coming to Redcliffe was to gain the aid of the mages in closing the Breach.”

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian's eyes flicked from Fiona to Philippa. “The Inquisition _is_ better than that, yes?”

"I suggest conscripting them," Cassandra lent her opinion to the decision. "They've proven what they'll do given too much freedom."

“I've known a lot of mages,” Varric piped up from where he was standing off to the side and out of the way. “They can be loyal friends if you let them. Friends who make bad decisions, but still, loyal.”

“It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer,” Fiona said, her tone daring Philippa to threaten her people.

“We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition's side,” Philippa announced.

"We will discuss this later," Cassandra growled almost inaudibly as she glared at Philippa, who flinched under the scrutiny.

Fiona's eyes sparkled as she smiled and cautiously looked at Cassandra. “A generous offer, but will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?”

Philippa fought the urge to bite her lip in uncertainty. “The Breach isn't just going to go away and I can't seal it on my own. We need your help, and I suspect we won't gain full support without a little tit for tat. Alienation is not the answer.”

“I'd take that offer if I were you,” the King said to Fiona. “One way or another, you're leaving my Kingdom.”

Fiona hung her head as if the banishing were a personal attack. “We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

The King had left in the same flurry of noise that he had arrived in and Philippa was left standing in the middle of the throne room with only Cassandra, Dorian and Varric. She had decided that the day had been a victory, although she was not relishing the idea of having to tell the leadership about the deal she had made with the mages. If Cassandra had actually put up a fight, she was certain that it likely would have turned out much differently.

Now, she was sitting in their hastily erected camp in the middle of the woods, a pile of balled up parchments scattered around her as she tried to decide how to break the news to Cullen. She knew that Leliana's people had probably sent runners ahead to tell everyone the news, but she felt that he deserved some sort of explanation. She growled and balled up the current draft she was working on and tossed it at the fire. Dorian chose that moment to seat himself dramatically beside her. “So, the Inquisition supports free mages. What's next? Elves running Halamshiral? Cows milking farmers?”

She chuckled in spite of her frustrations. His eyes lingered on the wasted papers and he took her quill from her hands and then the pile of unused paper as well, storing it behind him so they could talk. She stretched out her tired fingers then clasped her hands in her lap, conceding defeat. “I'm just getting started. With enough time and resources, I'm sure I'll surprise you.”

“I suspect that's untrue... Unless you strip yourself naked and allow the Chantry to flog you into repentance,” he quipped. “Now that _would_ surprise me.” So he thought he had her all figured out, hmm? “I _do_ wonder if you've considered what this support of yours will do... For mages in general, I mean.” He paused to allow his words to sink in. “The Inquisition is seen as an authority. You've given southern mages license to... well, be like mages back home.”

Philippa grinned. In their time together, she had grown to really appreciate Dorian. He was smart and handsome and quick with his wit. He seemed to see her as an equal which she surmised by his attitude that it wasn't a common occurrence for him to stack anyone quite so high as himself. If she would allow anyone to distract her from the ill advised infatuation she had with Cullen, it was him, and he seemed all too willing. “We could certainly use a few more mages like you.”

“Ha!” his laughter broke the silence of the night and she saw Cassandra reach automatically for her weapon before realizing there was no danger and going back to her dinner. “There aren't many mages back home like _me_.”

“I'd believe that,” she agreed, stretching out her legs to get her feet closer to the fire and leaning back against the log behind her to gaze up at the stars in the sky through the foliage of the trees surrounding their little clearing. It had been a long time since she had stargazed. She wondered why. She was certainly up often enough in the midnight hours. She made a mental note to see if she might find a quiet spot in Haven where she could view the constellations.

“I never fit in,” he said with a flourish breaking her from her musings. “Bloodstains are so difficult to clean, you see.”

It was common knowledge that many of the mages in Tevinter considered Blood magic an acceptable tool. “Orgies and blood magic rituals are all we have to look forward to, then?” she asked. She had been raised in a Circle. It hadn't always been easy, but she had never wanted for anything, until Kirkwall that was. Why some mages found it so revolting that they would turn to Blood magic to escape made no sense to her, but then she had never had to be a child in Kirkwall. Even after the Circle was abolished and she was free, she just wanted to live. Doing something so revolting as turning to blood magic had never crossed her mind.

“Not at first, but you'd be a fool not to see where this could lead. Thing is, the Imperium was once just like the south... Templars, proper circles, all that rot... Then it changed. By inches. Not that this is reason to oppress us... Still, my homeland should be a cautionary tale, not a source of inspiration.” Philippa thought about his words and hoped she had made the right choice. She had to trust her fellow mages, or all was lost. Dorian paused long enough for his words to sink in and then proceeded to study her. "What happened in the interrogation room... That man... Who was he?"

She flinched and drew her legs back up to hug her shins. "You've met him briefly. Commander Cullen," she said softly, trying not to allow the image of him into her thoughts.

"He had certainly seen better days," Dorian pointed out. Then he lowered his tone and shifted closer to her. "Exactly how long have you been in love with the Commander, then?"

Philippa's eyes widened as her head whipped around so she could stare open-mouthed at Dorian. "I'm not," she hissed. "I've just... I've known him a very long time. We're colleagues, at best." She knew her words sounded untrue, but the fact of it was, she didn't _love_ Cullen. Her interest had barely slipped past curiosity and a small hint of lust.

Dorian laughed mockingly again. "Yes, and I'm the Empress of Orlais..." As Philippa set a glare on him, his brow rose in curiosity. "Oh, but you actually believe that."

"Of course I do. It's the truth," she huffed.

"My dear Herald..."

"Phil..." she corrected.

He held up a palm in consent and corrected himself. "My dear Phil, nobody is reduced to a blubbering puddle and seeks the comfort of a practical stranger over a 'colleague'... But it's just an observation."

"The Commander has been part of my life for nearly twenty years," she explained. "It was difficult to see someone I've known, and worked beside, for so long reduced to... that."

Dorian shrugged languidly. "I'll not force the issue," he conceded. "I apologize." Then he got up and left her to her thoughts.


	28. Familiar Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from Redcliffe, Philippa prepares to close the Breach. Once the deed is done, the celebration is cut short when Philippa is visited by some familiar faces, one of which she never thought to see again.

Each night, she had sat up trying her best to pen a note that didn't sound guilty, but apologized for her decision. Each night she had wound up unable to find the right words. That is why when they arrived back in Haven, she was sheepishly approaching the Chantry, expecting the others to be in the war room. Instead, they were right out in the open, arguing. Nothing else was new and she approached quietly, wishing she could skip this whole conversation.

“It's not a matter for debate,” Cullen snarled. The sight of him healthy and whole made her heart flutter, but at the same time, he was angry with her, so she felt nauseated. Maker, why couldn't she have just written that note? “There will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared.”

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.” Josephine said, her scowl a new expression that Philippa had never seen from her before.

Finally, Cullen's sharp eyes flicked to her, burning holes in her flesh. She knew she should have written that letter. She shuffled her feet as he scolded her. “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”

“We're not monsters, we can control ourselves without mommy holding our hands,” she retorted, understanding his viewpoint, but disagreeing. She had expected his reaction, but that didn't stop it from being insulting. She didn't bother correcting his assumption either. The rifts and the Breach allowed demons to walk the world without possessing a person. The mages were probably safer than they had been their entire lives.

“This is not an issue of self control,” he snarled through gritted teeth. She felt her stomach tying itself in knots as he admonished her. “Even the strongest mages can be overcome by demons in conditions like these.” As he spoke, his tone seemed to lighten ever so slightly. She realized then that he was not angry with her. He was afraid. She pressed her lips together and her cheeks flushed as she averted her gaze. "Seeker, you were there, why didn't you intervene?"

“While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it,” Cassandra said with an encouraging nod of her head. She turned her face to Philippa, her expression both disappointed yet sympathetic. Philippa wondered how she accomplished it. “The sole point of the Herald's mission was to gain the mages' aid and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks... and here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.” Dorian appeared behind Cassandra and leaned cooly on one of the support pillars of the Chantry, crossing his legs. He'd left his cloak and staff behind again. She was also certain he had taken the time to comb his mustache and touch up his eyeliner before presenting himself. A ritual _she_ probably should have worked into her mad dash to the Chantry. She felt disheveled, she likely looked it too.

“Closing the Breach is _all_ that matters,” Cassandra said, sparing him a glance and sighing.

“I saw what was in our future if we fail,” Philippa offered, her gaze solely on Cullen and her voice soft. She knew her expression was speaking volumes of what she had seen as his future self flickered across her vision. “It's not something I care to relive.” She added a small smile which made his cheeks flush slightly as he shuffled half a step backwards.

“We will not fail,” Cassandra said with confidence, shattering the moment that Philippa was sharing with the suddenly nervous Commander.

“We should look into the things you saw in this dark future,” Leliana said softly. When Philippa glanced at her, the face from the future flashed across her vision, she nearly whimpered and must have reacted slightly. As Leliana continued to speak, Cullen cleared his throat only loudly enough to draw Philippa's attention. When she glanced at him, his head was cocked in question. She shook her head a fraction so no one else would see. “The assassination of Empress Celene, a demon army...”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises, chaos for everyone!” Dorian said, his voice dripping with sarcastic humor.

“One battle at a time,” Cullen said, holding up a hand. “It's going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let's take this to the war room.” His normal carefree smirk had returned as everyone had spoken. “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

It took a moment for it to register that he was addressing her. She sighed. “Can't you lot do anything without me? I could use a nap...”

Cullen snickered. “What is it they say? 'No rest for the wicked'?”

She shared his amused grin as Josie said, “Meet us there when you're ready.”

“I'll skip the war council,” Dorian said brusquely, pushing himself away from the pillar. “But I _would_ like to see this Breach up close, if you don't mind.”

“Then you're... staying?” Philippa asked mildly shocked.

“Oh, didn't I mention? The south is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces,” he said with a flourish of his hand.

Philippa smirked. “There's no one I'd rather be stranded in time with, future or present.” After her outright denial of her 'feelings' for Cullen, her and Dorian's interactions had become brazenly flirtatious. It was a welcome change to the way she had been living her life, afraid to show any sort of emotion that might lead to a romantic exchange. The Circle had broken her.

“Excellent choice,” he said with a grin of his own and a short bow. “But let's not get 'stranded' again anytime soon, yes?”

Cullen's smile had disappeared when he spoke next. “I'll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

The war council was long, boring, and stuffy as the leaders organized their people using their little figures on the map. Philippa was almost glad to be stepping into the freezing chill of the evening air. Other than her explaining how she would need to be situated with the mages in order to draw from their power, Philippa had felt her presence was absolutely unnecessary. The mages were not due to arrive for another three days, and Philippa was planning on taking every advantage of the cozy bed in her cabin before they needed to march, even if it wasn't to sleep. She walked past Leliana's tent on her way through the village and lifted her arms toward the sky to stretch out her aching back. “Hawke,” his voice carried on the wind to her and sent a shudder down her spine that she was unable to hide. He would never accept her, she needed to put this behind her.

She paused and turned her body to see him hurrying to catch her. He jogged up beside her, his warm breath escaping in plumes of fog. “Commander?”

“Something seems off since you returned from Redcliffe. Would you care to talk about it,” he asked her as his hands found his sword hilt and they began to walk slowly again.

“Sorry,” she said softly, hoping to avoid the subject. “I just thought you might be angry with me.”

He took a longer step, planting himself in front of her. “Angry? With you? Why?” he asked, blocking her path and forcing her to a stop again. "Also, since when do you care if I'm angry with you?" He chuckled.

“You disagreed with granting the mages an alliance... Do you have a problem with me wandering free as well?” she asked fearfully, almost afraid of his answer.

He snorted. “Of course not!” He sighed, a larger puff of air temporarily blocking her view of his face. “I have no intention of endangering your alliance, but I must ensure the safety of those here. That concern extends to the mages. They are putting themselves at risk for the Inquisition. As are you. Any precautions taken are meant to aid you. Nothing more. I hope that you will accept it as such.”

She began walking again, skirting to his side and he fell in step with her. “You know, I came to the Conclave expecting them to decide that the mages would be forced back into the Circles.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. “What happened to you at Redcliffe?” he asked bluntly.

She shuddered again, but this time not in excitement but in disgust. “It was awful. The future...” she couldn't continue. Swallowing, she crossed her arms, hugging herself. After a moment, she sighed, gathering herself. "You were there... It... It was bad."

She was shocked to find his hand resting on her shoulder. “It's all right if you don't wish to talk about it. I read your report.” Somehow that report had been easier to write than a simple apology to the man. He gave a short squeeze as they arrived at her cabin and dropped his hand to his side. “Get some rest, Hawke. You've got a long road ahead of you. And don't forget, I'm here to listen... or beat you in chess, whenever you need.”

“I'll do my best,” she said, offering him a coy smile as she opened her door and backed inside, his behavior striking her as strange.

They had marched up to the remains of the Temple around mid-morning the day after the mages arrived. Apparently while she had been out recruiting, the Inquisition had been busy with cleaning up the deposits of red lyrium that had been all over the Temple. Now all that remained were the magically charged stalagmites that burst up in a ring around the rubble.

The rift she had used to settle the Breach the last time remained, the black and green crystals shifting and undulating from it's center. The tendrils of magic swirled upwards to the vortex of clouds above. Her hand reacted, magic sparking from the mark to flicker around her fingers. The sensation was numbing as she awaited the mages and soldiers to take their places. Cassandra and Solas stood at her side. Once everyone was in place, Cassandra nodded to her.

Philippa looked down at the dancing magic in her palm once more and closed her fist around it with determination. She began to approach the crackling rift and Cassandra called out. "Mages!"

Solas finished her thought. "Focus past the Herald. Let her will draw from you!"

The closer she stepped to the rift, the heavier her footfalls became and the harder it was to push against the magic. She gritted her teeth and gathered her strength. She _could_ do it. A surge of energy burst from the dozens of mages all around and Philippa felt the mark sparking. She lifted her arm, opening her palm to the magic and thrust it upwards toward the rift. Her entire arm went numb as the magics connected. The crystals of the rift cracked open, giving her a brief glimpse of the Fade before it closed around itself, the swirling magics balling up in a knot. She wished she could describe what happened next, but she was blinded as a flash of white exploded in her vision and the magic nearly yanked her off her feet. Before she could recover, the building energy that she had poured into the rift snapped the magic free of her and cracked like a dam, the excess bleeding off in a blast of raw energy. She was blown backwards, landing on her back before the flash of light dissipated and she could see again. She rolled and got to a knee, her other raised in front of her so she had somewhere to lean her numb arm. She caught her breath as the others around her recovered from the blast.

A comforting hand landed on her shoulder blade and she glanced up in exhaustion. "You did it," Cassandra gasped, looking away from her and upwards.

Philippa raised her eyes to look up at the Breach. The clouds still swirled around a twinge of green, but the rift was gone as well as the crackling bolt of energy that had connected the two. She dropped her head in relief. She was alive and sensation was returning to her hand like the limb had been asleep, pins and needles prickling her skin.

"Can you stand?" Cassandra asked gently.

Philippa nodded, pushing up from her raised knee and only stumbling briefly as the crowd around her began to cheer. Her heart was light. She had fixed the immediate threat. Now, she wanted to return to her cabin and sleep off the exhaustion of closing the Breach.

The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention as she ran full tilt through the woods. Darkness laid around her like a blanket, her breath heaving from her chest in great puffs that manifested around her in the freezing air, only to be immediately swiped away by her passing. Her chest was tight, the cold and exhaustion sapping all of her energy as her pulse raced. The branches of the trees all around grabbed at her clothing and her skin, opening up small cuts on her exposed flesh. Roots and mounds of dirt seemed to shift beneath her feet, moving to wrap around her ankles or rise in front of her toes to trip her up. She spun to look behind her and judge how far her pursuer was from catching her. With each breath came a whimper as she turned to continue running, unable to see where he was. Her limbs felt like jelly. She would need to stop soon, but stopping meant he caught her.

The air shifted and the sounds around her were swept from her ears by the howling wind. Now she could not hear the sounds of the lurching footfalls of her pursuer. Looking in every direction, the change tripping her up, and making her feel like she was suddenly going the wrong way, her attention was drawn from the path ahead of her. Suddenly, she slammed into a solid body and the scent of petrichor, tainted with the smell of the Blight which she remembered from her time in the Deep Roads enveloped her senses. She screamed, thrashing as his gnarled fingers wrapped around her arms and kept her from running. She tried to call on her magic, but it had been sapped by her lack of energy. Hopelessly, she slumped in defeat and looked up into his once beautiful amber eyes. "Face Me!" he growled in a voice so unlike his usual flowing accent, she balked. He shook her once "Face Me!"

Philippa shot up in her bed, an actual scream escaping her throat as she fought with the blankets that held her down, tangled around her sweaty limbs. It took her a moment to adjust, coming down from the terror that had suffused her being inside her dream. Her entire body was shuddering, her hands nearly uncontrollable as she reached up to push her wild hair from her face. She was covered in sweat, and her heart was still racing.

She sat for a moment, allowing the real world to untangle from the dream world and her limbs to quit shaking. She could hear the sounds of celebration outside her cabin and wondered what time it was. She didn't feel like her nap had lasted all that long. Judging by the dimness of the cabin, the sun had set. She huddled in her blankets, the fire not feeling like enough to dull the cold sweat still clinging to her. Realizing that there was no way she was ever going to get back to sleep that night, she sighed and got up from the bed, untangling herself and moving to her washbasin to clean herself up and make herself presentable before going out to see what all the ruckus was in the village. She dressed casually, trying not to make it obvious that she had just had probably the most upsetting dream she had ever encountered.

Outside, Haven was alive with excitement. People were dancing, laughing, sharing drinks, and some of the mages were showing off, producing light shows in the sky. The merrymaking brought a smile to her face. For the first time since she had entered the Temple of Sacred Ashes to attend the Conclave, it didn't feel like the world was coming to a sticky end. She could see the mages and templars that had abandoned the war and joined the Inquisition interacting with each other with hopeful smiles.

She meandered from her cabin, the bonfires all around the town heating the air. She could almost believe it was spring, even though she knew better as small snowflakes fell in the air around her, melting before they could hit the ground. Judging from the moon's position in the sky, it was only around 8 o'clock, telling her she had slept about three hours once she had finally been able to close her eyes. She mingled with the crowds that were dispersed around the village, accepting thanks and drinks that were passed to her. Most of them she held in her hand until she was out of sight of whomever had given it to her and then set each mug down, untouched. A few she took small sips from to be polite, but her dream had put her in no mood to be celebrating. She slapped on a smile and laughed and joked, but the efforts were hollow. Never had she had so many friends, but felt so very alone. She had recruited all of these people to a cause and then abandoned them to their own devices, not allowing herself to open up to them. Kirkwall had closed her off from the side of her that was good at making friends. Deep in her gut, she felt that needed to change. For months, she had been self centered. She promised herself as she stood between Leliana's tent and the requisition table, that was going to change. After the party was over and it was decided what their next move was now that the Breach had been sealed, she was going to put forth more of an effort, in spite of how tired she was or how much of a migraine she had.

The spot she had chosen was relatively quiet, and she looked out over the drunken dancing going on below the short drop off in front of her. A small smile spread across her face, the revelry contagious. She recognized Cassandra's limping gait approaching her from behind, and the warrior moved up beside her, hands clasped behind her back. She glanced over at Cassandra and smiled warmly, catching the Seeker off guard momentarily. Cassandra cleared her throat softly and said, "Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed. We've reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.”

Philippa snorted. "Heroism feels a lot like luck to me. Don't they know I fell into this? Almost literally..."

Cassandra glanced sidelong at her before a brief smile of her own drew her lips upwards. “A strange kind of luck. I'm not sure if we need more or less... But you're right. This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus...”

No sooner had the words fallen from Cassandra's lips than a loud tolling of bells sounded across the village. The excitement of the crowds flipped instantaneously into panic as Cullen's sharp voice sounded along with the bells. "Forces approaching! To arms!"

"Oh, now you've done it," she mumbled to Cassandra as if her words had drawn the attack down on them.

Cassandra ignored her, shock falling over her features. “What the?!” Cassandra drew her sword. “We must get to the gates!”

Philippa followed on her heels as she ran the short distance to the main gate. It had been closed tight after dusk and Philippa could hear the sounds of a small force battling on the other side. Cassandra questioned Cullen as a calming whisper flowed over Philippa's skin from the other side of the gate. “One watch guard reporting,” Cullen explained. “It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josie asked, her tone suggesting she was ready to write a strongly worded letter to whomever had the nerve to attack them.

“None,” Cullen said with a shrug.

“None?” Josie exclaimed, sounding almost disappointed that she had no one to blame.

Small explosions rocked the gates as Philippa found herself drawn to them. A muffled voice spoke, a nervous shudder under the choked tone. “I can't come in unless you open!” Before Cullen could object, Philippa ran at the gate and lifted the barrier so she could push it open. Cullen's voice seeped with frustration as he grumbled and followed on her heels. She felt that the voice was safe. She recognized the presence of a spirit, though it felt like the demon that had taken the face of the Lord Seeker. It was no possessed mage. It was a flesh and blood spirit.

A large armored man approached, menacing at her through his helmet. There was a sea of bodies around him that shared his armor. Before he reached her, his chest jerked forward and then he fell to the ground, dead of a stab wound in his back. His killer stood alone in ragged, patchwork clothes the dagger dripping in his hand, a matching one in the other. His face was obscured by the floppiest brim that Philippa had ever seen on a hat. The same voice that had so politely called for the gate to be opened flowed from the young man. “I'm Cole. I came to warn you. To help.” The daggers disappeared into his belt and he jerked a quick step towards her. “People are coming to hurt you,” he looked momentarily apologetic as his proximity allowed her a view of his face. He was young, likely no older than 20 and his eyes, what she could see of them through the mess of shaggy blonde hair that covered half his face, looked sad. His mouth was wide and expressive, framing teeth a bit too large. “You probably already know.”

“What is this? What's going on?” she asked, her voice giving away the frenzy in which her mind was spinning.

His voice lowered, calming, almost conspiratorial. “The templars come to kill you...”

“Templars?!” Cullen advanced, his sword in hand and the boy jumped back like a startled cat. She nearly reached out to hold Cullen back, feeling the jolt of fear from the boy as if it were her own. “Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?!”

The boy, spirit, Cole, wrung his hands nervously as he cautiously stepped toward Philippa again. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him, he knows you. You took his mages.” Cole spun and pointed up the mountain where the bulk of the approaching army could be seen marching towards them.

Philippa followed his hand, and saw a tall creature standing beside a man on a ledge jutting above the marching Templars. “We know that man, but this Elder One...” Cullen gasped, voicing her shock.

"Maker's breath, it can't be," she choked as the creature, standing beside another face she recognized, leered down from his perch on the cliff. Even from that distance, she recognized the twisted features of the ancient imprisoned Darkspawn that she and her family had released and killed in the Vinmark Mountains. "Corypheus..." Her heart began to race with a very real fear. He was dead. She had killed him herself. How was he back?

“He's very angry that you took his mages,” Cole said warily.

“Cullen, give me a plan! Anything!” Philippa squeaked, her voice rising in panic. She suddenly felt absolutely uncertain. It was a strange feeling.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we _must_ control the battle,” his hard expression mixed with encouragement as if he could tell she needed it. “Get out there and hit that force.” He pointed to one of the many trebuchets that lined Haven's outskirts. “Give it everything you can.” Dorian, Varric and Cassandra were all outside the gates now as well, followed by a gathering of mostly sober soldiers and mages. Dorian handed her staff to her and she gripped it tightly as Cullen turned to face the gathered soldiers and mages. Cole had seemingly disappeared and Philippa hoped he would be alright. She needed to have a conversation with the spirit when there was time. She had never seen his like. “Mages! You.. You have sanction to engage them. That is Samson he will not make it easy! Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives, for all of us!”

With a deep breath, Philippa started toward the trebuchet. When they got there, Inquisition forces were already loading and aiming it. The woman doing the aiming shouted for them to keep the approaching forces off them as they worked. It was easy enough at first, repelling the Templars with walls of ice and fire that she and Dorian were supplying. Soon, however, new horrors wandered onto the field. From the waist down they were men, dressed in the usual Templar leg armor. Above that, their chest and backs were bloated and their skin as white as the snow on the ground. The massive shards of Red Lyrium that jutted from their flesh had ripped through whatever armor they had once worn. Their heads mostly sat forced at odd angles and off center, looking comically small amidst their misshapen bodies. Philippa backed away in horror, the twisted templars reminding her of what she had seen in the future. Had all templars been reduced to gnarled and insane mounds of mindless flesh? After knocking back a few, Cassandra engaged one of the 8' giants that now peppered the templar's ranks. Philippa watched one of the misshapen templars approaching on her side and moved to warn her. Before she could say a word, the templar began to shake and it gripped it's head as if it were in pain. She watched in terror as the shards on it's shoulders and back began to get longer. Without warning, the shaking ceased and the shards spat from their places and directly towards Cassandra like the quills off a porcupine. Philippa shouted and sprung into action, throwing a quickly erected barrier up to surround the Seeker. The shards smacked into her magic and then fell to the ground. The monster raged and she swallowed her fear. They would never win if she was afraid to fight. She stormed towards the snarling templar, spinning a charge into her staff. She stopped a mere three feet from it and slammed her staff into the ground, sending a chain lightning spell into it that arched from it to several more templars before petering out.

She soon heard the trebuchet firing and then the woman's voice called out. “They felt that. We'll reload. You get to the other trebuchet. It isn't firing.”

Philippa hurried up the small hill to the second trebuchet. It had been overrun, but not before it was aimed and loaded. All they needed to do was fend off the Templars swarming the area and crank the mechanism to get the boulder into place. When the first set of templars was dead, Philippa rushed up the three stairs that put her beside the controls. She grabbed hold of the crank wheel and began turning it. She strained under the effort, but she was the best one to be doing this. The others protected her from the incoming waves of templars. When it was finally done, she hit the firing release and the large boulder rocketed out of it's place. It soared for the mountain above the army and when it hit, an avalanche rumbled down to knock out a vast majority of the approaching army, snuffing their torches and burying them alive.

Their victory was short lived as a deafening roar echoed through the sky. Philippa's head shot up and she caught sight of a massive dragon. It's wings were tattered and she wondered how it was even flying. It soared overhead, blotting out the moon before swooping down to breathe a deadly blast of angry red lightning on top of the trebuchet. The siege weapon burst apart, splinters of wood ricocheting in all directions and bits of metal flying through the air. Philippa was hit first by the shock wave of energy from the magical blast and then by a large chunk of wood that sliced a cut into her upper arm. As she fell to the ground face first, rubble from the trebuchet rained down on top of her and a bit of metal lodged itself between her calf and her knee on her left leg. She cried out and bit her lip, grasping at the wound. She had no potions on her and she was not keen on wasting the mana to heal a cut so deep. She left the shard in her leg and crawled to her feet, hoping the shrapnel would help staunch the bleeding. As the dragon flew off to attack other parts of the village, the area near the trebuchet became eerily quiet. She glanced around and saw the others getting to their feet. "Shit!" Varric cursed loudly. "Who ordered the end of the damned world?"

She hobbled over to help Dorian and he waved her off, taking a look at her leg. “I'll be fine. We need to get back.”

Dorian eyed her, but allowed her to lead them back to the main gate. They paused briefly near the smithy to help Harritt get into the small building to grab essentials. Cullen was standing in the gateway and calling everyone to fall back inside. After they'd run through, Philippa gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg, each step shooting jolts of agony to every nerve ending she had, she paused to catch her breath. Cullen and one of the soldiers pushed the gate closed, resetting the large wooden barrier that she had cast aside when Cole had called to her. “Fall back to the Chantry. It's the only building that might hold against... that _beast_.” He scanned Philippa as he spoke, noting her injuries. “At this point, just make them work for it.”

She nodded at his questioning glare and he jogged off to do what he could. Philippa could ask no less of herself. She pushed hard as they fought their way to the Chantry. As they went, she insisted they help the people. A templar named Lysette, engaged with one of the bulky red templar generals, the merchant, Seggritt, trapped in a burning building, Flissa pinned under a rafter in the destroyed tavern, Adan and Minaeve wounded and trying to prevent the fires from reaching the barrels of explosive powder, and Threnn keeping the Chantry doors clear for fleeing villagers. The Chantry doors swung open as they approached. Everyone in the village that was not already dead was beckoned into the safety of the stone building by Chancellor Roderick. Cole hovered at the man's side, his expression pained. Roderick spoke gallantly, but his voice was strained. “Quickly... the Chantry is your... shelter.” Once they were in, the doors were being closed and Philippa turned to see Roderick collapsing into Cole's waiting arms.

Blood seeped from a wound in his gut, barely visible mixed with the red of his Chantry robes. “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He's going to die,” Cole said softly as he led the man to a chair.

“What a charming boy,” Roderick lurched with sarcasm as he sat.

“Hawke!” Cullen jogged up to her side, his eyes again flicking to her leg. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I've seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that,” Cole said, his voice calm and quiet.

“I don't care what it looks like!” Cullen snapped. “It has cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!”

“The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Cole explained.

“I don't even know how he is here! I smashed his frozen corpse to pieces years ago,” Philippa growled in frustration, her tone pleading for answers. A wave of warmth and calm washed over her as Cole stood.

“I don't know. He's too loud. It hurts to hear him... He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he'll crush them, kill them anyway. I don't like him,” Cole's voice still held that deep sadness.

“You don't like...?” Cullen began to argue but then sighed. “Hawke, there are no tactics to make this survivable... The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“They're crawling all over the village,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven.”

“We're dying, but we can decide how. Many don't get that choice,” Cullen said forlornly. There was something behind his eyes. A deep sadness as he again took her entire body in with a flick of his eyes. Regret?

As she returned his gaze, trying to figure out what was on his mind besides their impending doom, there was silence, only broken by the moans of the injured and dying and the soft voices of the rest of the Inquisition as they lent help wherever they could. “Yes, that.” Cole whispered. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Philippa tore her gaze from Cullen and settled it on Roderick. “There is a path...” Roderick's voice was gravely and he gasped every few words, trying to catch his breath. “You wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage. As I have.” He pushed to his feet, wobbling where he stood. “The people _can_ escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.”

“Sure... bury the town. That's easy, but in case you haven't noticed that thing is flying.” Philippa shook her head.

“It won't stray from the Elder One,” Cole informed her. “ _He's_ here for you.”

“Leaving _you_ no escape,” Cullen said softly. When she glanced at him, his eyes were widened, his lips slightly parted. He was afraid... for her? His face suddenly hardened and his next words came out harsh as he saw her decision on her face. “Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way...” Then he turned from her. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!”

Cole lifted Roderick's arm and placed it around his own neck to help him walk. Roderick paused beside Philippa as she hugged herself. “Herald... If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this... I pray for you.”

She nodded a thanks around her shock as Cole led the man away. Boots on the carpet behind her made her turn. Several soldiers ran towards the doors and Cullen returned to speak to her. “They'll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the treeline.” She moved to leave, unable to bring herself to say any parting words. He took firm hold of her upper arm before she got away from him. “If we are to have a chance... If _you_ are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

The doors to the Chantry were closed behind them. “Charmer, is that really Corpheus? How is he back?” Varric wondered as they moved through the strangely deserted village.

"I wish I knew, Varric," she responded with a sigh. There were a few red templars along their path, but not enough to point out where they were. Philippa explained that she wanted him, Dorian, and Cassandra gone as soon as they had Corypheus' attention. When they came upon the trebuchet, it was already loaded, but she needed to turn it to the mountains. At least they were making noise now. Every time she landed her hands on the mechanism, it seemed like another hoard of templars found them and she needed to let go and help fight. It was both irritating and useful. The time it was taking them to fight was giving the people more time to escape.

“Whoa they brought really big backup!” Varric cried as from around the corner came a massive walking shard of red lyrium. Had that once been a person? Since the templars had arrived, the nauseating song of the red lyrium had been trying to claw it's way into her skull. She'd largely been ignoring it and doing her best to not touch any of the corpses or have any of the stuff splash onto her clothes as some of the templars spat it out from their mouths and other orifices. Now the song was overbearing as the hunk of lyrium shuffled toward her, the scar on her side echoing it's pounding footfalls with timely pulsing. It raised it's giant clubbed arm and smashed it down inches from where she had been standing. The roll she executed drove the metal shard further into her leg and she had difficulty getting back to her feet. Dorian threw up a barrier around her as well as a wall of fire to keep the creature at bay while she recovered.

They threw so much magic and so many physical assaults at it that Philippa was beginning to think it might be invincible. All she could think was, _I'm buying Cullen time. Keep fighting._ What felt like hours could only have been minutes, but she was exhausted and hurting. Finally, the thing came crashing to it's knees and she darted as quickly as her leg would take her back to the trebuchet. She finished aiming it and backed away to wait. Corypheus had to know that thing was dead. He needed to come and investigate. “Move! Now!” she shouted to the others and Cassandra squeezed her shoulder in encouragement before running off with the others.

As they disappeared around Haven toward the mountain pass beyond the city, Philippa heard the dragon approaching. She stood in the open, waiting for her death. Red lighting exploded around her, knocking her off her feet. Red hot flames licked at her heels from the dragon's breath. She dropped to the ground to shield her head and face. Heat rose all around her and some of the barrels that were in the area exploded, knocking her away and winding her as she landed on her back. Her head hit the frozen ground and her vision swam. She just laid there a moment, her eyelids fluttering as she fought to remain conscious.

She struggled back up and through the fire caught her first up close glimpse of Corypheus since his miraculous recovery from death. Long flat shards of Red Lyrium stuck out from his face and jaw, contorting his features in place of the dark corrupted stone that had done so before. The remaining skin was leathery and wrinkled. He felt taller. Probably 10'. Was that because she was facing him alone, or was he actually larger? His body was still thin and bony, at least the parts that weren't stretched over or fused with metal and Lyrium. He glared at Philippa, daring her to move. His eyes remained eerily human above the cracked and broken hair lip that exposed some of his yellowed teeth in a permanent snarl. She jerked out of the way as the dragon landed behind her, shaking the ground beneath her feet. It raised it's head and let out a shrieking roar. The noise was deafening and she backed away as it dipped it's long neck to rumble a growl at her. It's breath smelled of lyrium and rot. It's black wings and skin were similarly corrupted to it's master, hardened and fused with red lyrium that hummed and glowed. She didn't get much of a chance to stare it down as Corypheus spoke in his deep and resonating eldritch voice that thrummed in her chest. “Enough!” The dragon turned docile as the 'Elder One', as he was calling himself, sent a blast of air toward her and it, dousing the flames that stood in his way. She raised her arm to block the dust that swirled up between them, then Philippa's full attention fell on the creature. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“However it is you're back, I'm not afraid...” Philippa growled in a less convincing timbre than she had intended.

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will_ that is Corypheus! You _will_ kneel.” It pointed a long finger at her.

“That didn't really work out so well for you the last time we met," she countered, balling her fists. "What do you want? You haven't even asked for anything!” Philippa demanded boldly, her chest tight with fear and rage.

“I ask for nothing because it is not in your power to give. But that will not stop me.” In his left hand, he produced an orb swirling with indecipherable patterns. He held it up on display. As he continued to speak, it erupted with magic both green like the mark on her hand and foggy and red like the glow of red lyrium. The two magics mingled and he glanced at it admiringly. “I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it, begins now.” He thrust his right hand toward her and more magic flowed from it, red and corrupted. Philippa's hand jerked forward and the mark flared to life, crackling with it's own magic.. She gripped her forearm with her opposite hand and all other pain she felt melted away like a forgotten dream under the agony of her palm. She fought the pull of his spell, dragging her uncooperative limb back toward her. “It is your fault 'Herald'. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” He twisted his wrist, intensifying the magic and pulling harder on her arm. Shocking pain danced up and down her forearm and she gritted her teeth, fighting to remain in control of her own limb. His spell yanked her arm further forward, forcing her to step towards him. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as 'touched'... what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” The mark was widening on her palm and the stabbing, throbbing pain lanced further up her arm like her veins were on fire. He clenched his fist and reopened it, pushing more power into what he was doing. The renewed assault dragged her to her knees with a cry of pain as a crackling of red joined the green. The dragon stepped closer, drawn by the magic. She remained on her knees, bent double and clutching her wrist, her forehead to the ground as she tried to breathe through the agony. Still he rambled. “And you used the anchor to undo my work. The gall!”

She gritted her teeth, her breathing coming fast and choked. “What is this thing meant to do?” she shouted over the roaring inside her head.

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” He lowered his arm, the magic slowing and the agony lessening, allowing her to breathe. He was on her in an instant, grabbing her arm in his overly large hand and lifting her from the ground. She dangled in mid air, her muscles straining as he wrenched her shoulder nearly out of place so he could look her in the eyes. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire _in person_.” As she regained some of herself, she realized he actually had wrenched her shoulder when he'd lifted her and one pain was replaced by another. The red hue faded from her hand as some more of the pain receded while he spoke. She glared at him, powerless to do anything but dangle like a fish on a hook while he gave her no real answers. “I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. _Beg_ that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods and _it was empty_.” He threw her in disgust like she weighed nothing and she slammed, back first, into the side of the trebuchet. She crumbled, her arm useless, the toss pulling it free of it's socket all together, and the wind knocked out of her in a whimper. Her vision swam again and she fought to catch her breath. “The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation, and god, it requires. And you, I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.” He was slowly bearing down on her, the anxious dragon at his side, rumbling in it's throat.

She swallowed, her chest heaving and noticed a sword beside one of the dead Templars. She scrambled on her hands and knees and grabbed it up, standing awkwardly on her injured leg to face him down. She caught from the corner of her eye, a small light zip up from above the tree line. The others had made it! She fixed a defiant sneer to her face and brandished the sword. He was advancing slowly on her but she had done what she set out to do. Now she needed to finish the job and take out any of his army that might follow the Inquisition. She thought a short prayer for her people and said, “You expect me to fight, but you see, I was merely the distraction. Your victory will be short lived Corypheus, because we have unfinished business. For now, take the consolation prize!” She dropped the sword and kicked out with her injured leg, connecting with the release for the trebuchet.

Corypheus watched the boulder whip from it's place and careen toward the mountain overhead. While he was preoccupied, Philippa gathered all of her strength and ran, ignoring the shooting pains from her leg. She could hear the mountain coming down behind her and the dragon releasing an enraged roar before she felt the gust of air from it's wings as it took off with Corypheus. She ran until the air pushing against her back from the avalanche was almost overwhelming. She saw a hole in the ground in front of her and took a chance, jumping in. There were parts of a broken structure jutting outwards on her way down. She curled into a ball to try and avoid hitting them, but the hole was too small. She smashed into a few planks of wood, rolled over the crossbeam, and her vision blurred momentarily. Then she hit the ground. Cold snow fell on top of her and her body gave in under the pressure. She blacked out.

The first thing she realized was that it was freezing. The next thing she realized was, _if I'm freezing, I'm alive._ She blinked open her eyes, slowly allowing what little light there was to reach her vision. It was pitch black save for a flickering green light that seemed to be coming from her. Her head was pounding, her shoulder ached where it had been wrenched from the socket, and where the metal was embedded in the skin on her leg was on fire. The rest of her body throbbed in protest to her hard landing as she tried to sit up, causing a cry of pain to escape her lips. The green light was coming from the 'anchor' on her hand that seeped with magic. It would have been fine if she could get it to stop, but nothing worked. Her fingers were nearly frozen and when she attempted to flex them, all it caused her was a fresh agony. Her staff had escaped it's holster on her back and it laid a few feet away from her on the ground. She reached for the head, her fingers scrabbling, still unable to bring herself to get to her feet. The crystal reacted slightly to her, a flash of red fire lighting the area. She plucked the crystal from its place and wrapped the fingers of her right hand around the warm stone. With the tiny amount of mana warming her, she took several deep breaths and dragged herself to her feet, fighting the urge to crawl the entire way. Her injured leg was stiff, barely allowing her to bend her knee or place any weight on it at all. Her left arm hung limply at her side.

Taking in her surroundings, she realized she had landed in what looked like an old mining shaft. Cassandra had mentioned that there were several of these facilities beneath Haven. She leaned momentarily against the wall, her presence knocking a sandy cascade of rubble to the ground, reminding her of the tunnels beneath the Gallows. Once she caught her breath, she pushed ahead, following the single path ahead of her. Every step with her right leg shot pain up and down her body. Her teeth chattered in spite of the crystal she clutched. She was not dressed for the blizzard going on outside in the mountain passes. An uneasy feeling of being watched crept over her skin as she finally spotted a pinprick of light ahead of her. “Who's there?” she whimpered, glancing around. Her head was aching, but she could not tell if it was because of the beating she had taken, or if the uneasy feeling she had developed was because demons were nearby.

Quiet whispers broke the silence of the tunnel as it opened up into a cave entry. The whispers turned into shrieking voices and she felt despair wrap itself around her like a warm blanket. Demons. The approaching creatures hovered in the air as if floating on the swirling blizzard that seemed to surround them. Their bodies were cloaked and hunched, giving them the looks of a disfigured fetus. Their wails tugged all hope from her chest and she sobbed. As they attempted to surround her, she felt the magic that still burned on her palm flare. Her arm shot upwards, pulling a cry of pain from her throat as her shoulder wrenched again. The joint at least popped back into the socket as wild magic burst forth, ripping a hole into the air around her. The demons shrieked and clawed at the air as the rift she'd created sucked them physically back into the Fade and then closed itself. She gasped, dragging a lungful of freezing air into her body and then panted around the pain and exertion of what she had just done.

When she could breathe again, she clutched her arm to her side and pushed herself toward the exit. The wind howled angrily outside and when she stepped past the protection of the cave, the cold grabbed at her like a physical force, pushing her off balance. The gusting wind yanked her clothes this way and that and sucked the air from her lungs. It was difficult to breathe, but still, she forced herself to keep going. Everything was white, covered in deep drifts of snow. She stepped off the wooden landing that had been built outside the cave and her legs sunk almost knee deep. Each step took effort to push through the mounds of snow. She silently thanked the Maker that it was so windy that the snow was not packed very tightly. She forded her way toward the treeline, hoping for some sign of the others. Soon, her clothes were soaked through and her teeth would not stop chattering. She had raised her right arm to block the wind from her eyes, but it wasn't much use. The cold surrounded her, infusing her. She could not even feel the warmth of the crystal anymore.

Finally, she spotted what remained of a cart. The wood had been broken apart and one of the wheels was snapped. A short distance away was a hastily built campfire. She diverted to the fire, kneeling beside the pile of sticks and stones, but found no warmth there. The fire was cold. She stood and surveyed the area. Likely, the others had moved northward into the mountains. She prayed that she was right. Going the wrong way would be her death. Her teeth still chattering and her skin numb, she continued.

Philippa trudged for hours, following the treeline for a small amount of protection from the biting wind. She could not feel anything from the waist down and her leg was leaving a light trail of blood in the white snow, which was likely the reason she could hear the howling of wolves that carried this way and that on the wind, making it impossible to pinpoint where it was coming from. The anchor still glowed angrily, but she no longer felt the burning tug of it's magic. She was amazed her teeth hadn't shattered with all of the clacking together they were doing. A few hours ago, hope had driven her further forward when she'd found another cold fire. It meant that she had chosen the right path. Her stomach was clenched tightly with hunger and it made her wonder how long she had been unconscious in the mine shaft after the avalanche. Both fires were cold, indicating that they had been exposed to the elements long enough for the embers to die. She could feel her body fighting against the strain of fording the now hip deep snow. If she had to go much farther, she would certainly die of exposure. The howl of the wind had become a constant companion in her aching head, and her magic produced little but sparks when she tried to call it forth. She nearly fell over when the slope of the ground hitched upwards. She glanced around and spotted another fire huddled beside a large rock. She moved to the fire, expecting to find more cold, but instead she found, “Embers! Recent?” Her heart fluttered. Was she catching up?

The only way forward was up the hill. She took it one step at a time, glad for the numbness in her legs that allowed her to almost effortlessly put weight on her injury. A large cleft in the mountain stood before her and she panted as she thought she heard the sounds of voices carried to her on the wind. The camp. It had to be. A few more steps and the most wonderful sound she had ever heard, reached her ears. “There! It's her!”

She fell to her knees as the owner of the voice rushed toward her. “Thank the Maker!” came another voice.

He was the first to reach her, and he dropped beside her, a slew of questions rolling from his mouth. She slumped against him, out of strength for anything besides the fluttering of her eyelids as she fought to stay alert. "I've got you," Cullen finally mumbled as her forehead smacked against the freezing metal of his cuirass. He lifted her like she weighed nothing and she huddled against his chest. A group gathered around them as he carried her into the camp.


	29. You Can't Be Serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking in the Inquisition camp after Corypheus showed his face, miraculously back from the dead, Philippa is confused and shaken. Solas provides a distraction in the form of a trek through the mountains to a place they can lay their heads. Once they arrive, Philippa accepts another burden alongside the ones she's already carrying.

Philippa didn't remember much else for the next few hours as she was poked and prodded and her injuries tended. She laid bundled up in a tent in a semi conscious state listening to the sounds of the people around her. After a while, the familiar sounds of arguing suffused the normal din of a packed camp.

“What would you have me tell them? This isn't what we asked them to do!” Cullen's sharp tone rose above the others.

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!” Cassandra shouted back.

“And who put you in charge?” he snapped angrily. “We need a consensus, or we have nothing!”

“Please, we _must_ use reason!” Josephine pleaded. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled.”

“That can't come from nowhere,” Cullen scoffed, his words clipping the end of hers as he quickly retorted.

“She didn't say it could!” Leliana scolded him.

“Enough! This is getting us nowhere!” Cassandra's voice was filled with frustration.

“Well we're agreed on that much...” Philippa tried to block out the rest of the pointless shouting as Cullen continued to speak.

She sighed and closed her eyes momentarily. “Shh, you need rest.” Philippa glanced at Mother Giselle who was seated beside her cot, calmly sorting healing herbs.

"They've been at it for hours, It's like they have nothing better to do," Philippa pointed out, her throat straining around the scraping of thirst. Mother Giselle handed her a glass and she sipped it thankfully.

"They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus," Giselle said sadly.

"Do we know where Corypheus slunk off to after the avalanche?" Philippa asked her.

"We are not sure where _we_ are. Which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead. Or without Haven, we are thought helpless. Or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature, only his effect on us."

“The only thing yelling gets us is a headache,” Philippa said, feeling her own headache beginning to return. “ _Another_ headache.”

“They know,” Mother Giselle conceded with a small nod. “But our situation... _your_ situation... is complicated. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand... and fall. And now we have seen her _return_.” Philippa sat up, facing Mother Giselle as the wise woman continued to speak. “The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained.” At Philippa's look of shock, she smiled. “That is hard to accept, no? What 'we' have been called to endure? What 'we', perhaps, must come to believe?”

“I escaped the avalanche,” Philippa corrected. “By the skin of my teeth, sure, but I definitely didn't die.”

“Of course. And the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But the people know what they saw. Or, perhaps, what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment, and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the Heavens are _not_ with us?”

“I've never believed I was sent by Andraste. I'm certainly not going to start now. What I think isn't important,” Philippa pushed herself up from the cot, tears burning her eyes. She had killed Corypheus once before and all it had done was made him stronger. How was she supposed to pretend she had all of the answers when she could barely believe her own story? “Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. Hope is _not_ the bulwark we need to fight that.” She walked to the opening of the lean-to and raised her left arm to lean on the support pole and press her forehead against her forearm. At least her hand wasn't glowing anymore. Then she sighed and dropped the arm, moving outside the tent where the others had temporarily dispersed. She rested her hands on her hips and surveyed the lost leadership. Cassandra poured pointlessly over a map of the area, Josie and Leliana sat huddled together by a fire and Cullen paced in a tight circle mumbling to himself. It was a sad sight and she wished she had some way to help. Suddenly, Mother Giselle's voice rose behind her.

_Shadows fall and hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come._ The hymn was carried on the wind over the camp. When she reached the second verse, Leliana's siren voice joined the Mother's. The song slowly picked up momentum and as the rest of the camp realized that she was awake, many came to sing, kneeling before her. Philippa was uncertain what to do with the worshiping masses. She stood in awe, watching as they paid her reverence that she didn't feel she deserved. She did what any friend would have done, any good person. Mother Giselle came to stand briefly beside her. “An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause,” she whispered gently and then moved to flow through the crowd, allowing the people to rise up with lighter hearts.

Philippa jumped as from out of nowhere, Solas was behind her. "A word?" he asked briskly before heading away without waiting for her answer. She rolled her eyes, following along behind him as he led her toward a secluded edge of the camp. There was an unlit torch jammed into the snow, and he released some mana to light it and stand by it for warmth. Philippa joined him, huddling nearer to the fire, her bones still feeling chilled after she'd suffered hypothermia for hours. The healers had saved her extremities, but she was convinced it would be a while before she felt truly warm again. She hugged herself and he watched her with both scorn and curiosity. "A wise woman, worth heeding," he said, referring to Mother Giselle. "Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause... or fracture it." He paused to grimace before continuing as if he didn't wish to say what he was preparing to tell her. "The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you. It is elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived... nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb's origin."

"All right," she said, willing to listen to anything that told her more about the Monster, regardless of how Solas had learned about what happened between her and Corypheus. He had likely gone sniffing around the Fade while she recovered. "What is it, and how do you know about it?"

A small smile twitched over his lips. “They were foci, used to channel ancient magicks. I have seen such things in the Fade. Old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His empire's magic was built on the bones of my people. Knowing or not, he risks our alliance. I cannot allow it.”

Philippa frowned. “Well, if we all freeze to death in the mountains, at east they won't be able to blame the elves.”

“We are agreed on that, and I _may_ have a solution.”

Solas led them north through the mountains, guiding her so she could guide them. She was the 'Herald' after all. They came across his destination mid-morning on the second day. Through a break in the peaks, she saw the massive stronghold. It was high above, built onto a plateau on one of the larger mountains. A long stone bridge connected the entrance to a shorter climb. From what Philippa could see, it was the only entrance. Towers of differing heights surrounded the main structure, built up from thick battlements. There was obvious disrepair, even from this distance, but it looked large enough to hold them.

She was the first to reach the main gates, stepping from the freezing wind of the mountains into a gentle breeze that tossed her hair. She gasped in amazement. There was magic here. For the first time in days, her chest warmed, the sensation radiating through her bones as she stopped in her tracks, to drink it in. People began to swarm in around her, similar reactions to the welcoming feeling passing through the masses. She wandered further in, acclimating herself to her new environment. Immediately to her right, there was a pile of rubble from crumbled battlements blocking access to the rest of the lower courtyard. She diverted, heading for the tall stone staircase that led to an upper courtyard and access to more of the castle. The grass was patchy and overgrown, but there was no hint that snow had ever touched the ground. Moss and vines grew up the side of the main structure, drawing her eyes up to the facade. Several balconies surrounded the towers, accessible from stained glass doors and windows that were severely cracked and broken. She got lost in the pull of the place, her feet carrying her wherever she could reach. Many of the doors were blocked by fallen rubble, leaving her aching for more.

When she returned to the main gates, most of the Inquisition had made it inside and tents and temporary quarters were springing up all around the courtyards. People were smiling and shedding layers as they settled in. Some of the men had already begun to sift through some of the rubble, attempting to open up more room for everyone to squeeze in. Just inside the gates, for convenience's sake, a makeshift infirmary had been set up for those seriously injured. Surgeons and healers took over the space, settling the wounded on cots and bedrolls. Philippa saw Cole wandering through the sick and dying, a pained expression twisting his mouth into a grimace.

Her first day in Skyhold, as Solas called it, was spent hard at work. When her healing magic ran dry, she set to helping shift boulders, and to assisting those that were setting up tents. The people welcomed her help with surprise and reverence. Giselle was right. She may not believe, but these people needed her to be their Herald. She put on a smile and lent every hand she could, ending her day helping the servants to pass out rations. When the sun crept down below the battlements, Philippa dragged her weary bones back down to the gates and found space to lay out a bedroll where she collapsed in exhaustion.

For three days, she met newcomers at the gates, helping to carry crates and supplies or assign space until more of the castle was opened up. The morning of their fourth day, she woke and prepared herself for another day of labor, exiting the tower she had been sleeping in to the bustle of the early morning. There was always someone working in Skyhold. She glanced around, looking for somewhere to lend her help, and saw Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, and Josie grouped near the bottom of the stairs to the upper courtyard. Cassandra beckoned her over and she obliged, approaching as they all smiled at her and the other three dispersed. Cassandra clasped her hands behind her back, watching as more newcomers made their way through the open gates. "They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage." With a tip of her head for Philippa to follow she started up the stairs. "If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you."

Philippa stopped her under the arch that was the base of the second flight of stairs that led to the still closed off main hall. "Clearly he has a few nails loose in his twisted noggin. Why exactly should I care about the demented reasons behind his obsession?"

Cassandra pursed her lips. "You should care because he sees in you what we all see, and it has nothing to do with the mark on your hand." She continued into the upper courtyard and circled around to begin climbing the next flight. "Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that Creature's rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us." They approached the hexagonal landing where the staircase turned and Leliana was standing primly with a large ornamental sword poised on her open palms. "The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading it." Philippa glanced down to the gates where a crowd had gathered below. Cullen and Josephine at their head. "You," Cassandra finished.

Cassandra slowly indicated the sword in Leliana's hands with a gesture and Philippa balked. The gathered crowd were all staring upwards in her direction, smiles spread across their faces. Her eyes widened. “I think I might be going as batty as Corypheus,” she hissed. “I could swear I just heard you say you want a _mage_ at the head of the Inquisition?”

Cassandra shook her head once with a gentle smile. “Not a mage... you.”

“In case you forgot, I _am_ a mage,” Philippa reminded her, her heart beginning to race.

“I will not pretend no one will object, but times are changing. Perhaps this is what the Maker intended.” Cassandra again held out a hand to offer up the sword. Philippa's palms were sweating, and her hands shaking as she slowly stepped closer to Leliana. “There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead... That must be yours to decide.”

The most Philippa had ever been in charge of in her life was a handful of mages in Kirkwall after she was named First Enchanter. She lifted her right hand and it hovered hesitantly over the dragon shaped hilt. Finally, she swallowed and her fingers wrapped around the gold embellishments. As she took the weight of the sword, the weight of the world fell on her shoulders. Leliana backed up a step to stand beside Cassandra so Philippa could not drop the sword back in her hands. Philippa stared at the sword, her thoughts whirling as the sun caught the blade. “Everyone is afraid after the madness of Haven. I will do everything I can to help them see that, as a mage, I am standing against the darkness.” She took a deep breath. _Magic exists to serve man. Never to rule over them._ “I will defeat Corypheus standing _with_ them, not over them.” She was one of the people, just as she had continuously had to remind everyone who insisted on calling her Herald. At least now, maybe that title would no longer be tossed about.

“Wherever you lead us.” Cassandra stepped up beside her and her voice rose to call down over the crowd. “Have our people been told?”

“They have!” Josephine's voice replied. “And soon, the world!”

“Commander! Will they follow?” Cassandra called again.

Cullen turned and faced the gathering. “Inquisition! Will you follow?” The crowd erupted in a positive cheer, many fists pumping into the air. “Will you fight?!” Another cheer and more fists. “Will we triumph?!” As the crowd reached a fevered pitch, Cullen spun and drew his sword, punctuating his final cries by stabbing it into the air. “Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!”

She was swept up, the rallying cry resounding across the courtyard lifting her heart. She lifted her own arm, mirroring Cullen's thrust with his sword, the blade in her hands not quite so heavy as it had been when she accepted it. Their eyes met and he offered her a warm smile.

Cullen and Josephine made their way up to them and Philippa accepted their congratulations, Cassandra relieving her of the burden of the sword and taking her leave. The ceremony over, they headed up the last of the stairs to the untouched doors of the main hall as the people got back to work below. Philippa was numb, unable to grasp how after everything that had happened they could still believe in her. Cullen patted her shoulder with a sideways grin and together they pushed open the heavy wooden doors. They opened with an echoing bang. The doors were large enough that they could all enter together, four abreast.

Philippa allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting as the sun poured in through the open doors, cracking the darkness in half along the middle of the hall. It was a mess inside, as it had been outside. Piles of splintered wood from the rafters and rotting furniture laid in piles along the walls. There was a smell of moldy cloth from the disintegrating runner carpet that had once spanned the length of the hall from the doors to the dais where a simple throne sat silhouetted by more of the massive stained glass windows like she had seen from below. Along the walls, six doors stood evenly spaced, to lead from the main hall to other parts of the castle. Tapestries dotted the space between, moth eaten and tattered, and a pair of chandeliers laid broken and abandoned amongst the rubble. It pained Philippa to see such majesty in such disrepair. Closing her eyes, she began to picture what this place could look like and Josephine squeaked, jumping to the side to bump against Philippa's arm. She opened her eyes just in time to see the flurry of movement that their presence had stirred. She smiled and patted Josie's arm comfortingly as the ambassador regained her composure.

"So this is where it begins," Cullen said with a sigh, toeing some of the wood with his armored boot and stirring up a swirl of visible dust in the ray of sun that tickled Philippa's nose and made her sneeze.

"It began in the courtyard," Leliana corrected, her own opinion of the hall a mystery as she stood with her hands securely behind her back. "This is where we turn that promise into action."

"But what do we do?" Josephine asked as Philippa moved away from the group to pick her way further into the hall and begin uncovering a pair of deep braziers that would serve to light the area and make it easier for the workers once they got in there to begin on repairs. "We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark."

The advisors, _her_ advisors, gathered around her as she clenched her fist around the mark. She turned to regard them, all looking to her for guidance. Unfortunately she didn't know much when it came to Corypheus' motives. The last time they had met, he had just wanted to be free. "Could he strike at us here? I really don't relish having to flee here like we did at Haven."

Cullen shook his head. "Skyhold has the bones to withstand Corypheus. After what you did with one trebuchet, I'd bet against direct attack."

"We do have one advantage," Leliana pointed out. "We know what Corypheus intends to do _next_. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated."

"Imagine the chaos her death would cause. With his army..." Josie said nervously.

"An army he'll bolster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us," Cullen added.

"Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god," Josie finished.

Leliana sighed heavily, finally relaxing her shoulders. "I'd feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with."

They all looked toward the doors as Varric made his presence known by speaking up. "We know someone who might be able to help with that." Philippa moved ahead of the group and listened. She trusted Varric and any help was welcome. "I sent a message to an old friend." He winked and she realized what he was hinting at. As her jaw fell open, he looked away from her and addressed the others. "He's crossed paths with Corypheus before, and may know more about what he's doing. He can help."

"Maker's breath, Varric, you didn't draw _him_ into this," Philippa stumbled, her mouth still agape.

Varric looked around as if hunting for prying ears then nodded slowly, confirming her suspicions, "Parading around might cause a fuss. It's better for you to meet privately. On the battlements." Then he turned away and left, presumably to go back to Garrett and wait for her.

"Well, then," Josie said, all business. "We stand ready to move on both of these concerns."

"On your order, Inquisitor," Cullen agreed with a teasing grin.

"I know one thing," Leliana chuckled. "If Varric has brought who I _think_ he has, Cassandra is going to kill him."

Leliana was probably right about that.

As the castle opened up and the crowds began to disperse, Philippa was starting to catch glimpses of some of her other companions. She returned to helping wherever she could and by midday, she likely no longer looked like Inquisitor material. When Vivienne stopped her in the upper courtyard near dusk and tsked, her concerns were confirmed. "Maker! You're a mess! Let me have a look at you. Are you all right, my dear? Were you hurt? You look dreadful."

Philippa waved off her fussing and joked halfheartedly. "This is tame... You should have seen me after I left the rotunda."

Vivienne crossed her arms and pursed her thick lips. "We should do something about this dirt. We don't want you frightening the faithful. Let's keep up appearances. You've handled this crisis competently, saving as many lives as you did. But the enemy struck a serious blow against the Inquisition. We must recognize that. _You_ must."

What did Vivienne think she had been doing with her day besides improving things for the people? Philippa scowled and charged off in a huff to head back inside the main hall and check on progress.

The mess on the floor had been cleaned up, the usable wood now burning in the braziers she had uncovered and the rest discarded. The hall looked brighter and some of the doors had been uncovered. Scaffolding was beginning to rise up the walls so that the dust and cobwebs could be handled and the rotten tapestries removed. Several men were inspecting the state of the chains that would raise and lower the chandeliers. Small notes were made and pinned to some of the scaffolding that described the direction they planned to head in as they moved forward. Philippa crossed her arms and admired the progress.

Her next step was to find Varric and Garrett before finding dinner. Blackwall offered to walk the ramparts with her and she agreed to allow him to examine their fortifications as she hunted for where Varric might be. He stopped her just past the tallest tower at the front of Skyhold that soared above the main gates. He leaned casually against one of the paraphets and stared out over the mountain view. It was majestic as the sun began to dip below the peaks, painting the Breach laden sky with pinks and purples that swirled among the greenish hues. "We'll be able to see Corypheus coming from miles away," he mused.

She turned a raised brow and a smirk in his direction. "That does work both ways, you know..."

"Let him come," Blackwall growled, straightening and pounding a fist into the opposite palm. "I swear I'll take that twisted bastard down, even if I have to die to do it."

It should be her that felt such rage. "That sounded personal... Did Corypheus insult you to you face?"

He looked at her with a slight sneer. "If it's not personal for you, maybe it should be. The people flock to your banner, eager to fight for the Herald of Andraste. Their faith is a leash, and your Inquisition has taken hold of it." He paced away from her and his next question made her cringe, her lack of faith apparently more noticeable than she knew. "Tell me honestly, are you what they say you are? Andraste's chosen?"

"There is so little I remember," she admitted, letting the rest fall on air.

"Does it even matter? Don't you see what you are to them? Without you, they'd be consumed by despair. We all would," he pointed out. "They need you to be Andraste's messenger. It gives them hope. The truth doesn't matter." He shook his head. "Ah, listen to me talk. Your time is valuable, and I've wasted enough of it."

He left her with more guilt that swam around in her head as she continued along the battlements. She found Varric standing with her twin on one of the square bits of the wall that circled a corner tower. They were sharing a bottle and talking casually. Her brother looked good for having been on the run for the last few years. His short, shaggy black hair that fell in no semblance of a style and his thick beard had changed little. His brown eyes were still filled with the same sarcasm that she saw in her own expressions whenever she saw her reflection. As she approached, he smiled up at her even before Varric said a word. "Little sister, look at you! Free of your shackles and running the show," he teased as he brushed past Varric and scooped her up in a tight bear hug that lifted her off her feet. "Carver must be livid!" He chuckled loudly, startling some birds that had roosted on a nearby broken paraphet.

She shrugged, returning his hug. "I haven't seen Carver in months. Cullen keeps him pretty busy. Have you heard from Bethany? We haven't been able to find any trace of Wardens in Ferelden or Orlais. Our personal Warden has no idea why they've disappeared."

"You haven't tried contacting Beth with your..." he wiggled his fingers at her forehead. "dreamer thing?"

She snorted and pushed his hand away. "In case you haven't noticed, the Veil is torn asunder. It's been a bit chaotic up here," she replied, gesturing at her own head. "This... thing," she flapped her marked hand. "Doesn't help matters."

Garrett crossed his arms and his expression turned thoughtful. "As soon as I started noticing Anders acting strangely, I contacted Beth. She and Nathaniel are safe. If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under Corypheus' control again."

"If that's what happened to the Wardens, do you think we can free them?" she wondered, wringing her hands together in worry.

Garrett shrugged. "It's possible, but we need to know more first. I've got a friend in the Wardens. She was investigating something unrelated for me. Her name is Solona. The last time we spoke, she was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing." Philippa was relieved to hear that Solona was in contact with Garrett, but she was concerned as well. How long had it been since he had heard from her? He obviously didn't know they were acquainted as well.

Varric snorted, interrupting her thoughts. "Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks. Did your friend disappear with them?"

"No," Garrett shook his head. "She told me she'd be hiding in an old smuggler's cave near Crestwood."

"If you didn't know about Corypheus coming back, what were you doing with the Wardens?" Philippa asked curiously. "I would think Anders would want to avoid them like the plague."

Garrett smirked, holding up a finger as if she deserved a prize for asking the right question. "I'd hoped the Wardens could tell me more about that bloody red lyrium that keeps cropping up everywhere. They're always digging around in the Deep Roads, and that's where we first found it..."

Philippa gasped. "Corypheus had templars with him at Haven. They looked like they'd been taking red lyrium like they would normal lyrium. They were corrupted beyond saving."

"Hopefully my friend in the Wardens will know more," Garrett mumbled, his brows creasing in a frown.

"I'll take any lead I can get at the moment," she agreed with a desperate chuckle.

"Good. I'll do what I can to help. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought we'd killed him before. This time, I'll make sure of it," he vowed, pounding one fist into his opposite palm.

She studied his mildly haggard appearance and then shifted her gaze to Varric. The dwarf nodded slightly and moved out of earshot. "It's really good to see you, Garrett. How are you?"

Her twin sighed, but immediately plastered on a smile. "You're asking about me? You realize Varric has been feeding me information this whole time. I know you haven't been sleeping..."

"That dwarf is quite the busybody," she said with a chuckle. She pressed her thumb into the mark and shuffled her feet. "I don't have much choice. I either learn to adapt, or allow this to consume me. I'm slowly adapting." She shrugged. "It's a skill I've learned in my life."

"Anders tells me you always had friends in Ferelden's Circle, and I know my friends help me through a lot of difficult things... The 'busybody' has also told me you have a bunch of people you've recruited, but you don't really talk to them. Maybe if you started making new friends, things would be easier?" he suggested.

"I've been working on that, too," she admitted, remembering her thoughts about mingling before Corypheus had made such a spectacular show of returning.

"I know it must be hard after living in the Circle for so long. You're a charismatic person... a lot like me. People _like_ you. I've seen that. I'm probably channeling Anders as I say this, but you deserve a normal life, Phil. Sometimes you have to accept _your_ normal and make it worth while. Life is short. Live it, for Maker's sake," he chuckled.

"Such sage advice, brother. When did you become so wise?" she asked teasingly.

He shrugged. "I've had a lot taken from me in this life. It's taught me to cling to the things I still have."

"Speaking of clinging, you didn't bring Anders with you?" she wondered curiously.

"I'm never really happy leaving Anders alone, but once I realized Wardens were acting strangely, I had no choice," Garrett admitted. "We've seen what Corypheus' influence can do to him. It was too risky. He's safe, I promise."

Philippa nodded. "I would love nothing more than to sit here for hours and catch up, but I need to tell the others we may have a lead. You know how it is when you're in charge. Everyone expects you to do everything."

"Do I get to call you Inquisitor, now?" he asked mockingly.

"Only if you want a thrashing, _Champion_." She shoved his shoulder and smiled.

He grabbed her arm and tugged her into another crushing hug. "Ooh, I've missed you, Phil."

"Not in front of Varric," she grumbled jokingly, pushing him off of her. "He'll get jealous."

Garrett let out a loud guffaw and strolled over to Varric. "No need for Varric to be jealous. I have plenty of bear hugs for everyone." Garrett knelt and scooped up Varric who protested loudly for the split second he was off the ground. Then Garrett set him back down and patted his head, earning a halfhearted scowl from the dwarf.

"See if I share the rest of my bottle with you, now," Varric said, snatching up the bottle of wine they had been sharing when she approached.

Philippa left them to continue their jovial banter, her own heart lighter after seeing her brother and hearing that Bethany and Solona were all right. She made her way back down off the ramparts and headed over to the squat table that Cullen had set up outside the infirmary near the bottom of the stairs in the lower courtyard. He had been standing beside it since they had plopped it down, barking orders to all of the eager soldiers looking to help get them into fighting shape after the loss of Haven.

“Very good. I'll need an update on the armory as well,” he said quickly in response to a report. When the soldier didn't jump at his orders, he turned a glare on the man and said, “Now.” The man saluted and scurried off. Philippa approached, noticing the slump to Cullen's shoulders and the tired look she had grown accustomed to on the Commander. She stopped and crossed her arms. He looked away from his papers and gave her a tired smile. His arm reached up and he rubbed his neck and she wished she could be the one to rub the stress from his muscles. She chided herself as he addressed her. “We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Archdemon... or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have...” He sighed and dropped his hand.

She cocked her hip and smirked at him. “I don't think you gotten any rest since we got here...”

He halfway returned her grin. “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw... and I wouldn't want to. We must be ready.” He leaned over, both palms resting on the surface of the table. "Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

“What do the numbers look like?” she asked softly, flinching at the fact that he had used her title and not her name.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor Hawke,” she sighed, the title rolling off her tongue and falling deadpan. “That somehow doesn't have the ring to it that it should. It sounds... odd. Doesn't it?”

“Not at all,” he said seriously as he glanced at her, his brow furrowing.

“Is that the official response?” she chuckled with a smirk.

His own laughter lifted some of the weight from her chest. “I suppose it is, but it's the truth.” He pushed himself upwards to face her and his hands landed on his sword hilt, but not before she noted the trembling they were doing. “We needed a leader. You have proven yourself.”

That was high praise coming from him. “Thank you, Commander.” she said. His small crooked smile forced an embarrassing knee jerk response that slipped from her mouth. “Everything happened so fast at Haven... I was afraid that you... I'm glad that most of our people made it out safely.” She attempted to amend herself even as the words poured out. Her cheeks reddened and she glanced away.

“As am I,” he agreed, his smile turning serious. Feeling like the conversation should end before she said something really damning, she turned to leave, forgetting that she had news for him. She was stopped by his hand wrapped around her upper arm. She glanced back at him, still surprised by any physical contact that he allowed to pass between them. “You stayed behind. You could have...” His expression was pained. He squared his shoulders and determination leaked into his gaze. “I will _not_ allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.” As his promise seeped in, he released his hold on her arm, his gloved fingers lingering on the fabric of her sleeve.

She watched the action, as she attempted to slow the racing of her heart. When she finally looked back up at him, she swallowed and cleared her throat. "I... I thought you should know that Garrett says he may have a lead in Crestwood. If I can get there, he'll meet me and we can investigate together."

Her abrupt change of subject had him straightening his back, standing less casually and putting on his Commander face. "I will inform Leliana and she can send scouts to the area to set up a forward camp," he said. Then he flinched as he moved back toward his table and shuffled through a few piles of papers secured by rocks so they wouldn't blow away. "There is one other thing that might require your attention."

He handed her a report on a place called the Fallow Mire. It was about a group of soldiers that had gone missing. Cullen's familiar hand had made a note at the bottom. _Inquisition Soldiers have gone missing in the marshy reaches of southern Ferelden. Because the region is largely uncharted, finding them will be difficult, but the Inquisition's advisors are determined to find out what happened and, if possible, bring their people back alive._

After reading the report, she frowned as she looked up at him. "I understand wanting to find these men, but why is it something _I_ should handle?" she wondered.

He flinched again. "The soldiers that went missing... Carver was with them."

"My brother is missing?" she nearly shrieked, her hands beginning to shake.

"I swear, I brought it to your attention as soon as I realized, Hawke," he stuttered.

"I'm leaving first thing in the morning. That will give the scouts heading to Crestwood plenty of a head start. I want all of the information you can get on the situation in the Mire," she barked with as much force as he had ordered the soldier to carry out his orders. Cullen, to his credit, snapped into action and hailed a pair of soldiers that were standing by. As he gave his own orders to set things in motion, she sighed and waited for him to finish. When he was done, she stepped closer to him by a fraction. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude."

He glanced at her and his brow rose along with the right half of his lips. "Did you just apologize for giving me an order?"

She balked. "Maybe?" she responded questioningly.

He chuckled softly. "You should get some rest. Perhaps in the morning, you will remember who is in charge around here... I hear that Josephine has found what she calls 'ideal living quarters for the Inquisitor'."

"Oh?" she gasped jokingly. "I should get promoted more often."

He chuckled again. "You can find our ambassador off the main hall. Second door on the left. Her office is directly adjacent to the war room. You'll see why we chose it when you get there."

Philippa took her leave and started on a quest to find Josephine. She passed through the second door on her left like Cullen had described after huffing her way up to the main hall. Through a short hallway to a second door and beyond was a surprisingly cozy office. Two windows on the right wall let light in on either side of an inviting fireplace with comfortable seating in front of it. In the far corner on the right, below the window was a desk angled to view the door. Josephine sat at the desk, scribbling furiously. Philippa could tell she had worked all day on this single room to get it looking as it did. It brought a smile to her face as Josephine looked up and addressed her with urgency. "Inquisitor! I was just inspecting our new headquarters. Foundation cracks. Nesting animals. And miles from any centers of civilization. The staff _must_ make it presentable if we're to receive any visitors of distinction."

Philippa pressed her lips together against her smile and nodded in mock agreement. "It certainly wouldn't do for the Inquisition to appear... overly shabby."

"We've only just now convinced everyone we are precisely what Thedas requires. The mages will be gauging the Inquisition's fortitude. They should feel safe here."

Based upon the shifty look that Josie let slip around her well lit space and the tone of her voice while she twirled her quill nervously between her fingertips, Philippa could guess at what was going on. "It seems to me like you could use a little bit of that same comfort..."

"I've had... difficulty forgetting Corypheus' attack on Haven," she admitted, primly setting her quill down. "Do you know who first leapt to arms? Our workers. They were so _proud_ of our cause. Corypheus simply cut them down. So much screaming after that first blast of fire. So many people turned to ash."

Philippa laid her palms flat on Josie's desk, and in spite of her own rage at Corypheus, she said, "If I had an attitude like that, it would mean that Corypheus had already won... We shouldn't dwell on the past."

"A proper example to set for those still alive," Josie said before clearing the sadness from her voice. "Well, before I return to my duties, allow me to congratulate you on your appointment as Inquisitor, My Lady. I will now bring diplomatic issues to your attention, and I'm more than happy to help with any situations that arise."

Philippa pushed away from the desk. "I'd be delighted if you could conjure up a marble bath within the next hour."

Josie regarded her with pursed lips. "I'll attempt to add that to the list," she said sarcastically.

"In all seriousness, I came to see where the war room was, and to ask about these living quarters I've heard so much about," she led.

"Oh!" Josie said with a wide smile. "I've had the servants working on your quarters all day. It is the door in the main hall just past this one next to the throne's dais. I think you will love it. The war room is just through there." She pointed with her quill at the door across from her desk.

Philippa thanked her and decided to glimpse the war room before heading to bed. The door led to a long hallway and at the end stood a pair of floor to ceiling oak doors. Carved into the left door was a normal sized door for everyday use. Philippa approached, stepping over the pile of rubble that had been swept aside from the large hole in the ceiling just before the doors. It cast some moonlight into the otherwise unlit hallway. She pushed open the door and gasped as soon as she entered. The tall windows along the back wall had been thrown open to let some air into the stuffy room. In the center stood the trunk of a tree that had easily been five feet wide before it had been sawed down. Atop the trunk, a thick slab of wood that had to have come from the same tree was laid on top. It had been unshaped, the uneven edges adding to the beauty of the piece. A map of Thedas had been carved into the slab. She approached the work of art, and pulled the glove from her marked hand to run her fingertips over the dips and ridges of the map. She felt a spark of magic leap out at her touch. The terrain of the map was surprisingly accurate considering that it had likely been carved and placed before Skyhold was even built, the foundations added around the trunk. She guessed that was due to the magic in the wood. Some sort of enchantment carved into it long ago. She could see herself spending a lot of time in this room, which was good because the war councils tended to verge on maddening lengths.

She reluctantly left the room, covering up the mark and passing by Josephine again before making her way to her quarters. Through the indicated door, she followed a set of wooden stairs upwards that spiraled around the walls of the tower to another door. Stone stairs continued the ascent in a straight line beneath large stained glass windows. The top of the stairs was open, no walls blocking the view of the windows from the quarters. To the right of and directly across the room from the landing were the two balconies she had seen from below on their first day. She moved across the wide open space and opened the glass doors to let the fresh, crisp air into the room. Papers stirred on a desk that was nested in the corner between the balconies. There was a couch with an end table pushed against the stair rail. The final side of the room was where the bed had been pushed perpendicular to the wall between two openings without doors that led to closets and a narrow indoor balcony accessible by ladders. "They've certainly spared no expense," she commented to herself, sitting down on the soft bed lined with furs. She could get used to being Inquisitor if it meant she got to live like this. She took a moment to mourn as a sudden realization occurred to her. She had some things that she had left in Kirkwall, not realizing when they left that she would not be returning. Her glass dragon, Bethany's stuffed animal, and her dream catcher which she had hung above her bed instead of continuing to wear it like she had for so many years. Luckily, she still wore Finn's and Solona's bracelets.


	30. The Gardens and the Marsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa, again, has trouble balancing her sleeping patterns in between managing her new friends and the duties of being Inquisitor. Adter finding some solace in the gardens beneath her quarters, she leaves Skyhold to help find Carver and hopefully rescue him from the Avaar.

Philippa had a hard time falling asleep in spite of the splendor that had been poured over her room. She found herself in the middle of the night, rising to step out onto her balcony that overlooked, not the courtyards, but the small garden area and extra sleeping rooms on the side of Skyhold's main building. The light breeze that caressed over her skin was refreshing and she breathed in deep, glancing up at the stars that twinkled in the Breach tinged sky. Sometimes, it was still odd to think that she was able to get up at night and explore without fear of being caught. Wishing to see the gardens up close, she pulled on a cloak over her pajamas and left her quarters. Her footfalls echoed around the tower as she climbed down the stairs and when she pushed open the door into the main hall, she was greeted with only a few guards and some night owls that were quietly working to dust out the rafters. She smiled kindly at everyone she saw, receiving a few bows and salutes in return. She wandered past the door to Josephine's office and on to the final small door on her right.

Pushing it open, she stepped into a small hall, and then through another door. The night air was more still this close to the ground, the breeze barely fluttering the cloth of her cloak as she walked onto the ring of stone walkway. She followed the stone path that circled the gardens, passing by some more doors that led to other parts of the castle. At the other end of the garden, she stepped from beneath the arched overhang. Glancing around, she noticed a boarded over well, partially tilled earth to her left, and directly ahead, a flower garden surrounding a vine wrapped gazebo. A few dilapidated benches sat peppered around the edges of the flower garden. Once it had been properly weeded and trimmed, the garden would be a truly beautiful place. She closed her eyes to inhale some of the fresh air and caught the scent of honeysuckle. She smiled, the scent reminding her of Cullen and making warmth spread through her chest. The warmth was short lived as her heart jumped with fright as a voice broke the silence surrounding her. "Couldn't sleep?"

Magic jumped to her hands unbidden as she yelped. She quickly staunched the electricity that arched along her fingertips and turned to glare at the speaker. "Maker's breath, how are you so bloody quiet!" Her hand leapt to her chest as her heart thudded rapidly beneath the glow of her mark.

Cullen's amused chuckle thrummed over her skin, chasing away the last of the startle he'd given her. "Apologies. I didn't realize I was sneaking."

She inhaled a breath, the mild scent of petrichor and citrus joining the honeysuckle as he stopped beside her to survey the gardens as well. As she exhaled, she mumbled, "You could at least drag your feet or something."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, his smile still quirking his lips. The moonlight shone dimly on his face, bringing a shimmer to his eyes as he flicked them to look her over. "You never challenged me to a rematch in chess..." he led with a grin.

"Do you have a set?" she wondered in awe, certain that the one they had played on in Haven had likely been left behind.

His smile widened. "As a matter of fact, I was able to find one right here in the gardens. It's ancient, but none of the pieces are missing."

"Lead the way, Commander," she said, her own smile matching his.

Beneath the gazebo, there was indeed a fixed table with a complete set of chess pieces strewn across the board painted on top. "Do you still wish to play black?" he asked.

"Of course. What do you take me for?" she said with a chuckle.

He began picking up the chipped pieces, and setting them carefully in place as she realized she was still in her pajamas and hugged her cloak more tightly around her as she sat, flushing slightly. He spoke softly as he worked. “As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won... which was _all_ the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won...” His eyes were far off as he remembered, a sweet smile on his face. “Between serving the templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays.”

“I didn't realize there were more Rutherfords running around...” she said, curious why he had never mentioned them before.

“Two sisters and a brother,” he said with a nod.

“Are they still in Ferelden?” She took her first move.

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should.” She indicated the board and he glanced away from her eyes. “Ah, my turn.”

He studied the board before picking up his piece and plunking it down. “You're about to relive those childhood defeats. This game is mine,” she teased as she carefully chose her piece.

The game took them hours to play. She had stopped paying attention somewhere near the second hour as she began to lose herself in his company. He glanced up at her suddenly and smiled brightly. “This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition... or related matters, in a long time.” he fiddled with the piece in his hand. “Honestly, I appreciate the distraction.” he set the piece down, his eyes falling back to the board.

“We should spend more time together,” she suggested swiftly, trying not to sound too pushy, but relishing in the little bit of company she was getting. She had nearly forgotten all of her woes while they talked about nothing truly important.

His eyes flashed back up to her, darting over her expression. “I would like that,” he agreed.

Her heart fluttered. “Me, too.” she realized it was her turn and without thought, simply grabbed a piece and moved it.

“You said that,” he whispered with a gentle grin. He watched her for a brief moment and then cleared his throat. “We should... finish our game. Right. My turn?” A frustrated growl nearly left her throat. This dance was infuriating. She shrugged it off. Simply trying to enjoy the time she had with him. Nothing he did had indicated she should expect anything more. He was acting no differently than he had when they worked side by side in Kirkwall. She knew better. This was why she had done everything she could to distract herself. Then why was it so difficult to shrug off this crush she had on him? After a few more moves, he shifted a piece and sat back in is chair. “Well, I believe this game is mine.”

She sighed as she studied the board and her terrible moves. His teasing grin said he knew she had been distracted and took full advantage. "Of course it is," she said with a self deprecating chuckle of her own. She leaned her elbow on the table and slowly rubbed at her tired eyes. "If the Commander of my army can't defeat me in a game of chess, I'd be concerned about his ability to strategize."

His expression shifted to concern. "Hawke, you're leaving for the Mire in the morning. That is not easy terrain to muck through. Have you gotten _any_ sleep at all?"

She shrugged. "I'll manage. I've done more with less."

"I just..." his hand lifted to the back of his neck, rubbing across his skin slowly. "If you're certain, I won't stand in your way."

"I need to find my brother," she said gently. "You understand."

He nodded, sighing. "I do." He paused, looking her over once more. "I don't wish to add to your burdens, but there is something else you should know."

"Is it about Carver?" she asked, her heart starting to beat a little faster.

"No," he stuttered quickly in what was likely meant to be a reassuring tone. "It's... personal."

She returned his studious expression and sat straighter. "Personal? Why does this sound ominous?"

"It's not... at least I don't think..." he sighed again. "There is something you should know now that you're Inquisitor."

"I'm listening," she said in her best understanding tone.

“As you know, lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer... some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here, but I... no longer take it.” He cringed as he laid out the truth.

“You stopped?” she asked curiously, understanding that any type of shocked reaction would be taken in the wrong way. It was best to allow him to explain, rather than overreact. She had known something was odd in his behavior. Now it made sense.

“When I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now.”

Panic suddenly rose in her gut. She knew how hard it had been for him after Meredith was killed. She had seen the yearning in his eyes when Rylen had arrived with the crates of lyrium. “Cullen if this can kill you...” She tried to staunch the worry in her voice, but still it wavered.

“It hasn't yet,” he said with a grimace. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't... I will not be bound to the Order... or that life... any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” he stood up, meeting her eyes. “But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to... watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“I remember before... Are you in pain?” she asked softly, knowing how it felt to be badgered by pain day in and day out. There was rarely a moment anymore when her own head wasn't throbbing with a migraine. It had lessened some when she closed the Breach, but the demons were still there, and the Veil was still damaged.

“I can endure it,” he said with a strength behind his words that made her believe him. She felt much the same in spite of outward appearances.

She considered him, and wished there were something she could do to ease his suffering. Perhaps simply listening would be enough. “Thank you for telling me. I respect what you're doing.”

“Thank you, Hawke.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen... I will defer to Cassandra's judgment.”

With one final fleeting look, he offered her a brief smile and left her to the chessboard. She carefully rearranged the pieces, setting them up for anyone else who might wish to use the table, and left the gardens.

Philippa woke the next morning after eking only about an hour of sleep from the darkness remaining after her chess game with Cullen. When she reached the lower courtyard, heading for the stables, she noticed Cole sitting cross legged on the ground a short distance from Cullen's table and seemingly having a conversation with a bug in the grass. “This _thing_ is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here.”

Vivienne's voice drew her attention away from Cole and she approached her, Cassandra, and Solas as they stood in a circle. Cassandra seemed mildly tense, dressed in her traveling gear like Philippa, ready to head to the Fallow Mire to find Carver and his unit, but she was not sneering, yet. Vivienne's stance sent out her usual air of superiority as she scowled, and Solas was as calm as a sleeping cat. What exactly was happening here? “Wouldn't you say the same of an apostate?” Solas asked cooly, drawing a hardened look from Vivienne.

Cassandra noticed her approach. “Inquisitor, I wondered if Cole was, perhaps, a mage, given his unusual abilities.”

At her confused frown, Solas spoke up. “He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him..."

Philippa nodded, cutting Solas off before he could finish, taking the opportunity to correct the assumption herself. "Cole is a spirit." Solas had explained _his_ knowledge of spirits to her and he knew there was a difference between the good and the evil. She didn't think he was aware, however, of her own ability to make the distinction. Her theory was confirmed by Solas' widening eyes.

“It is a demon,” Vivienne corrected with a sneer.

“If you prefer,” Solas sighed, removing his attention from Philippa. “Although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

“Cole came to us at Haven. He warned us about Corypheus. In doing so, he saved a lot of lives,” Philippa pointed out.

“And what will its help cost?” Vivienne asked as if Philippa were being utterly stupid. “How many lives will this demon later claim?”

“In fact, his nature is not so easily defined,” Solas explained.

“Speak plainly, Solas. What _are_ we dealing with?” Cassandra asked.

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre, monstrous,” he began.

“But you claim Cole looks like a young man. Is it possession?” Cassandra asked, apparently not having met Cole herself.

“No.” Solas said as a matter of fact. “He has possessed nothing and no one, and yet he appears human in all respects.” He turned a pleading gaze on Philippa. “Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.”

Philippa agreed wholeheartedly. “I should hear what Cole has to say for himself,” she said gently. She glanced to where she had just seen him and he was absent. “Where is he now?” she mumbled, already reaching out to find him.

“If none of us remember him, he could be anywhere,” Cassandra pointed out.

Philippa and Solas both turned their gaze directly to the infirmary where Cole was walking slowly amongst the patients. Philippa took her leave, ignoring Vivienne's suspicious glare, and walked over to speak to Cole. The boy's shoulders tensed momentarily as she approached. “Haven,” he said with a sigh. “So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape.” He paused and when he resumed speaking, his voice was different, more a whisper. She inched closer to listen. “Choking fear, can't think from the medicine, but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat.” he began to fidget with the frayed ends of his sleeves. “Hot white pain. Everything burns. I can't. I can't, I'm going to... I'm dying... I'm...” he pointed to one of the soldiers lying on a bedroll not far from them. Philippa watched the man's chest cease to rise and fall. “dead.” Philippa bit her lip as Cole took a few steps from her.

“You can feel what they feel?” Philippa asked, recognizing the twisted expression on his face.

“It's louder this close, with so many of them,” he confirmed.

“You could always go somewhere a little less loud...” she offered.

“Yes,” he answered. “But here is where I can help.” Philippa felt for Cole. He wanted to do so much good that he was hurting himself. How could Vivienne think he was a demon? He began to walk toward another soldier. “Every breath slower, like lying in a warm bath, sliding away, smell of my daughter's hair when I kiss her goodnight...” The soldier's eyes closed and Cole sighed. “Gone.” His attention was drawn from her again. He glanced around, hunting for whomever he was connecting with. “Cracked brown pain. Dry, scraping... thirsty.” He picked up a water skin and helped the woman lying with a broken leg and a large lump on her forehead. “here.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, almost crying before he stood and stepped away.

“It's all right, she won't remember me,” he said, approaching Philippa.

“Any chance you could explain what sort of spirit you are?” She asked, filling herself with humor to cover up the unease she was feeling at watching these people suffer.

“Yes,” he said moving away before he spoke. “I used to think I was a ghost. I didn't know, I made mistakes... but I made friends, too. Then a templar proved I wasn't real. I lost my friends. I lost everything.” There was something so sad about Cole. Philippa felt a throbbing in her chest that drew her to him. Something they had in common, though she could not quite place it. “I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different, but stronger. I can feel more. I can help.”

She approached him with a soft, gentle tone. “If you're willing, I would like it if you stayed to help the Inquisition.”

“Yes. Helping. I help the hurt, the helpless. There's someone...” He wandered away and she followed him. “Hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Someone make it stop hurting, Maker please...” he paused by a dying soldier whose face was twisted in agony, and drew a small knife from his belt. He turned his eyes on her, looking from beneath that ridiculous brim on his hat. “The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony. He wants mercy. Help.”

Philippa looked from Cole to the soldier and a small smile spread across her face. “You're saying he is going to take hours to die... The human body is capable of some miraculous things given time...”

“His body is failing.” Cole insisted.

“He could recover, or the healers could find another way to help him,” she kindly reminded him.

“How do you know?” Cole asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I don't. And neither do you. That's part of life,” she offered him another accepting smile.

He looked away from her and spoke to the unconscious soldier. “Try.” Then he returned the knife to it's sheathe and said. “I want to stay.”

She left him to his 'helping' and saw that Cullen had found his way back to his table where he was barking orders to a group of soldiers and scouts that had gathered around him. Nothing seemed amiss in the Commander and she could hardly believe that it had been months since he had taken any lyrium. He was very good at hiding his feelings. She sighed, glancing one last time over the infirmary to wipe the embarrassing thoughts from her mind that watching Cullen drew to the surface. She had a brother to save.

Cullen had not been joking when he had told her about how treacherous the terrain in the Fallow Mire could be. She was glad that she had worn her tall boots that laced all of the way up to her knees. Each step they took in the squishy bog was making an attempt at sucking their shoes from their feet. Harding had reported when they arrived that in an old, broken down fortress across the bog, a tribe of Avvar had kidnapped the soldiers in her brother's unit and was holding them hostage with a challenge directly aimed at Philippa.

"Is Junior really worth all this?" Varric complained jokingly as half his leg sunk deep in the muck. Philippa grabbed his hand and pulled him free just as they reached the first marker along the path.

She had a retort ready, but Dorian drew her attention. "Phil, darling, have you seen this?"

She approached where he was standing in front of a tall stone structure. "Is that a veilfire brazier?" she asked in awe. She drew on her magic and lit the ethereal flame. The light burst forth, flickering in a bluish green flame. "I've never actually lit one of those before."

"Uh, I don't think the corpses like the fire, Charmer!" Varric called out, as a line of the undead started to emerge from the waters around them.

They had been avoiding the water so far, realizing very early on that disturbing it drew out the shambling bodies of plague victims that had not been properly disposed of. With the Veil in such a terrible state, the corpses were being reanimated in ridiculous numbers. "Correction, Varric. They like it too much," she stated, taking her staff in her hand as the corpses shuffled up onto the patch of land they stood on and began to attack.

"This may actually be useful," Dorian hummed thoughtfully as they fought off the corpses. "If we find more of these along the way, we can lure the undead into fighting on dry land."

"Oh, Dorian, I knew I didn't just bring you because you're pretty," she teased, liking his idea.

He chuckled. "Well, I should hope that was at least part of the reason. Though, I suspect once we're finished in this Maker forsaken place, I could be a might less pretty until I've had a proper bath."

She sniggered. "If that's the case, there's absolutely no hope for the rest of us."

Their trek through the bog was not only muddy, but it was sweaty and perilous. The veilfire not only attracted the walking corpses, but seemed to summon any demons that were hovering about. They discovered a few rifts along the way as well, one of which summoned a particularly nasty revenant. It managed to get a hold of Philippa with it's chain and yank her off her feet and almost into it's blade. Before she reached the thing, she collided with a barrier that Dorian threw up between her and the creature, dazing her slightly as she stumbled back, the chain falling loose around her feet. Before she could recover, Dorian began to chant, drawing on an unfamiliar magic. When he thrust his arms up in the air, and several purple hued spirits lifted from the corpses of the foes they had already defeated, she dropped to her knees, crying out in agony as the raw necromancy played havoc with her mind.

"Sparkler! You might want to send those things back where they came from!" Varric shouted, his voice hovering closer as he moved to cover her while she writhed.

The magic dropped instantly as Dorian recalled the spell with a curse. "Fasta Vass!"

Cassandra let out a loud shout and charged at the revenant, which was the only foe remaining. Philippa dragged herself to her feet and leaned heavily on her staff as the spots that had erupted in her vision faded. She regained herself as the others killed the revenant and then swiftly thrust her palm to the rift and pulled it closed. "You all right, Charmer?" Varric asked, the closest one to her.

She nodded slowly as Cassandra and Dorian approached. "Tell me what I did so I don't do it again," Dorian added with a look of blatant guilt and concern, approaching her to lay his hand on her upper arms and ask her with his eyes if she was alright.

"No, Dorian, it wasn't your fault. I wasn't prepared. I didn't know you were a Necromancer..." she bit her lip hesitantly as Cassandra glared at her, her hand wrapped around her sword hilt uncomfortably tightly. "Just like you didn't know I am a somniari."

"Kaffas!" Dorian cursed again. Philippa was glad she had allowed Finn to teach her some of the rarer languages back in Kinloch so she could understand when Dorian slipped into his native tongue. "I had no idea! I'm so sorry."

She straightened, offering him an encouraging smile. "I should have told you." Then she shifted her gaze to Cassandra. "And I assumed Cullen would have told you, Cass. I didn't keep it a secret on purpose. It's just... when people find out they usually look at me like I can't be trusted. I was already in enough trouble when you arrested me."

Cassandra opened her mouth in a few false starts before sighing. "I... suppose I understand. I've seen enough to know that you are apparently much stronger than anyone gives you credit for."

Philippa sighed. "Dorian, I promise I can handle your spirits. I've seen and heard the spell now, so I will know when it is coming and I can shield myself. There's no need to hold back. That's a powerful skill to have, and we can use it."

He pursed his lips. "If you insist," he said cautiously. "Though I don't relish my magic ripping apart your brain every time I cast a necromancy spell."

"Don't be so dramatic," she snorted, taking one of his bejeweled hands in hers and patting his knuckles, trying to make him see that she could handle the abuse. Necromancy was a very useful skill to have up their sleeves. "Come on, I have an idiot younger brother to rescue."

They made their way to the fortress where Carver and the others were being held by the Avvar. All the while, in between undead attacks, Dorian cautiously asked Philippa questions. She was more than happy to explain her power to someone who had actually studied the field and understood what she was talking about. She felt like she almost had Finn back.

A large stone ruin loomed ahead. From the massive chains that ran from the gatehouse into the swamp, Philippa could tell that it had once been a huge structure. As they approached along the road, the piles of burning plague victims darkened the already muggy air. The smoke was light, but the stench was terrible. Philippa was preoccupied with looking ahead for any sign of the Avvar that she nearly didn't see the burning corpse reanimated and crawling toward her from one of the bonfires. She let out a shriek as Dorian grabbed her and pulled her to his side. Cassandra stabbed down through the corpse's head, giving it a second death. “There's more,” Dorian pointed out, his hand still around her bicep.

“Way too many for us. Head for the gate and we can close it once we're inside,” Cassandra suggested.

She cleared them a path, running ahead to cut down the corpses that were making their way onto the road. Her shield blocked a few projectiles that came from past the gates and Varric quickly dispatched the Avvar that had been waiting for them out of sight. Once they all passed through the gates, Philippa rushed up the wooden set of stairs that led around to the gate controls above. The others stayed behind, keeping the corpses at bay.

When the gates were closed, they followed the blissfully un-muddied road toward the stronghold. Waiting for them was a burly man who carried a huge two handed hammer, much like Bull did. He had several other men positioned around him. “Herald of Andraste! Face me!” he shouted. “I am the hand of Korth himself!”

Philippa's staff was in her hand as the man let out a fierce battle cry and rushed from the top of the tall staircase where he stood. She spun it around twice and then jutted it forward, throwing a fireball from the end to smack into him before he reached her. He laughed as he patted out the fire on his armor. “Fasta Vass!” Dorian swore and Philippa backed up.

She was already charging her staff for a winter's grasp while her fingers mimed the glyph that would call a crushing prison around their attacker. Cassandra felled one of the shield bearers to her left and she heard Dorian chanting. As another of the soldiers fell like a pincusion under Varric's crossbow, Dorian's chanting got louder and more complex. Philippa dropped the glyph on the ground under the leader who was charging her again. Her spell formed around him and began to close in on itself, making very little room for him. He stopped dead in his tracks, unable to move. Dorian's spell sucked at the air around them, making her temporarily dizzy, but she prepared herself this time, shielding from his spell. She glanced around to see what he had done, and she noticed two shadowy figures ringed in a purple mist dart upwards from the corpses on the ground and rush toward the man who was slowly being crushed. He was much more resilient than anyone else she had used the crushing prison on, and he had no metal armor on him to crush his lungs. Her spell dwindled before he choked to death and Dorian's spirit minions rushed in to begin hacking and slashing at the vulnerable man. Cassandra and Varric were dispatching the other threats, both in their own fashion. Varric with concentrated shots and tiny grenades, the battlefield lighting up from all of his little traps and flashy distractions that gave him the upper hand, and Cassandra with unparalleled discipline and rage. Philippa called forth the winter's grasp that she had charged and set it on the Avvar as Dorian's puppets faded. Her fellow mage was leaning heavily on his staff and she stepped up, using her fist of the Maker to knock the leader to his knees. He was laughing again and the fact that he was bloodied and bruised and choking and still mocking her enraged Philippa. She glanced down at her hands, feeling her magic swirling inside her like a blaze as he got back to his feet. Her eyes lifted and she glared him down. First her right hand reached forward, her staff having found it's holster seemingly of it's own volition. A gigantic spirit fist manifested and grabbed hold of the man. When her left hand reached out and the second fist appeared, the battlefield went silent, as everyone stopped to watch. Philippa breathed out and remembered what this man had done. He had abducted her brother and issued a personal challenge to her. Now he was mocking her while repeatedly trying to kill her and her friends. With a cry of anger and strain, Philippa pulled her arms apart, and the spirit fists mimicked her, effectively ripping the large man in two. Blood sprayed in an arc where he had stood and both of his halves dropped to the ground as the spirit hands disappeared. The first time she had ever fully let loose her magic, and it had incomparably deadly consequences. Her hands were shaking as she released the remainder of her magic. The remaining Avvar backed off and dropped their weapons.

Philippa jerked when a hand fell on her shoulder, but quickly recovered when Dorian's voice soothed over her. She spun and fell into his embrace, horrified that she had let her anger get the best of her. “Shh, it's all right.” he soothed, petting her rain soaked hair. In spite of them being drenched and the smell of the bogs, she could still smell the scent of woodsmoke, parchment, and leather that surrounded Dorian. It was comforting. What would Cullen have thought if he had seen her break her own oath to herself and to her father? Her magic had definitely just served the most base of her emotions. Dorian didn't seem to mind. He was a mage, he understood.

She pushed away from Dorian and patted his chest gently. “It's fine. I'll be fine.”

“Are you certain, sweetheart?” he asked softly, brushing her matted bangs from her face as Varric went over to fish around on the two pieces of the Avvar to find some keys. She nodded stiffly.

Their soldiers were safe in the locked room to the left of the entry. Philippa hugged Carver tightly, glad that they had been able to rescue him before the Avvar had gotten bored. He balked briefly before awkwardly returning the embrace. The captive soldiers were slightly dehydrated and a few were injured, but with a few quick healing spells from Philippa, they were all able to move. Carver assured her that he would get them all back to the Inquisition safely. She escorted the group back to the forward camp, following the cleared path they had established with the veilfire on their way in. It was then that she used the time to tell him everything that had happened. The closing of the Breach, Corypheus' return and the destruction of Haven, followed by her own unexpected promotion and Garrett's return. He asked about Bethany and Philippa passed on what Garrett had told her. His relieved sigh matched the one she had released when Garret told her originally. With Carver safe, she now had to return to Skyhold and ready herself to head to Crestwood and hopefully meet up with Solona.

Upon her return to Skyhold, Philippa allowed a few days for herself and the others to recover before they would head to Crestwood. She decided to spend the time attempting to ingratiate herself with the rest of what she was planning on referring to as her inner circle. The men and women she had personally recruited. She noticed after cleaning herself up and donning some more comfortable clothes, that Cullen had moved his table from near the infirmary. She ignored the change and headed for the stables where she had seen Blackwall when she had dropped off her horse after they returned. He was carving a griffon shaped rocking-horse and when he spoke to her it was slightly more businesslike than she would have preferred, but it would take some time for those she had trained to not expect her to be overly friendly, to realize that she had shifted her attitude.

She left Blackwall and passed by the infirmary. Feeling Cole nearby, she glanced up and saw him sitting on the ledge high above, outside the new tavern that had opened while she was away. She climbed the stairs and moved to stand beside him. He was rocking back and forth and fidgeting. When she approached with raised brows, she also noticed his right heel was kicking rhythmically against the stone wall. “What are you doing?” she asked softly, moving up to lean beside him.

“Listening,” he said with a small smile. His voice switched to the melodic hum he used when reciting people's thoughts. “Eyes rough, jangling armor hurts my ears, back aching, fingers too clumsy for knots.” A breeze lifted around them and Philippa closed her eyes as she listened. “Wind cool like aunt Eloise's pond. Lips scalded as I sip, warmth blossoms, first kiss in the barn, what was his name? Tin jangle as the blood spills. Pierre's wrapped body on the wagon to the Chantry. Five more minutes. My fault.”

Quick images flashed before her closed lids and she gasped. When she opened her eyes, they were drawn to a woman below tending to the wounded. “Can you listen to anyone's mind like you did hers?”

“No. They have to need me. Pain, fear, sadness, guilt, anger, hurt. Things I can fix,” he explained.

“I could almost see what had happened to her,” Philippa said, her palm resting over her rapidly fluttering heart.

“Yes.”

“Is that what it's like for you?” she wondered. It was intriguing to get so much insight into the mind of a spirit.

“Yes.” The sound of rushing wind sounded beside her and when she glanced back he had disappeared. She looked around and was not surprised to see he was down below with the woman.

She made her way back down to join him, and whatever he had said, the woman was backing up. “I don't... I don't know who you are...” she looked mildly frightened.

“Wait, that didn't work. Let me try again. You'll forget me in a minute.” Philippa watched the woman glance away from Cole and then when her eyes slipped back to him, she seemed to have no recollection of the last few minutes. Cole smiled and said, “You can't save all of them.”

“What?” She asked.

“Like Pierre getting sick after you snuck out to aunt Eloise's pond. You want it to be your fault so there's a reason and it's not so frightening. But there _is_ no reason. Pierre just got sick. The soldier was never going to live. It wasn't your fault.” he lifted his hand and Philippa felt a hum of magic. The woman simply looked at them and smiled before walking off. “Better.”

“She doesn't blame herself anymore?” Philippa asked in awe.

“Not as much. It was bouncing around inside her, closing up into a ball of wrong. Now it's open. She'll get it out.”

“Well done,” she said, praising him for helping.

“Thank you for letting me help her. It's not how a person would do it... but it helped. That's what matters.” Cole's innocence melted her heart. There was so much she could learn from him, but in return she suspected she might teach him quite a bit as well.

Philippa agreed and then regarded the boy and hugged herself. He waited patiently as she decided whether she should ask him about templars since he had spent time with some of them recently. Her main concern was whether he might be able to help with any suffering Cullen might be going through from quitting lyrium. “I'd like to talk with you about templars.” she said gently.

He smiled softly before he answered. “They're heavy with forgotten songs, like Varric. Some of them are too loud. It's hard to stay near them. Cullen is softer, but demons asked questions that hurt him. Evangeline was kinder. I want to explain, but I... Rhys' mother spoke to spirits but not to him. Then she died for a templar he loved. Words just bounce off the edges.”

Already he was talking about Cullen, and she pushed further. “But what do you think about them... In general?”

There was a temporary sneer that crossed his face. “Some like hurting mages. It makes them happy, or less afraid, or... Dreams again, woke up shaking. Stalking the grounds for one who looks like her. Always some rule being broken... But not all templars listen when whispers crawl around inside them. They try to protect people. Like Cullen.” Was he purposefully bringing up Cullen because he could hear her thinking about him, or was it simply his way of giving her a medium to compare to? “The good ones remember that mages _are_ people.”

“Can you tell me more about how the templars feel to you?” she asked.

He screwed up his face as if he were trying to find a way to describe it to her. “They feel older than they look. They've been changed, and their bodies are incomplete now. The Lyrium helps, but their bodies always want to connect to... something older. Bigger than they are. That's why they block magic. They reach for that other thing and magic has no room to come in. Like when I listen to Varric.”

“How are the Red Templars different?” she wondered. Maybe Cole would know more about why red lyrium affected templars the way it did. Anyone for that matter.

“The Red Lyrium is different, darker. Daggers under the skin. It eats you inside until you're nothing. They hear a different song. The song behind the door old whispers want opened. They are dead, dark, and done.”

Philippa shivered at his description, but getting his perspective was fascinating. She smiled before tipping her head with a chuckle. “Can you explain how your mind works?”

“Yes,” he said with his own excited smile. It was like she was his first friend in a very long time. The same could be said about her in a way. She had become quite the introvert.

“Walk me through the way you help someone,” she coached when she realized he was looking for a question.

“I start by listening. I hear hurt, feel it fretting. Some you can solve by giving something. Food, a blanket, sleep. Some are intangible, terrible tangles that catch on a crack. Fixed, festering, and the person makes a pearl of pain. I shake it loose. No pearl, no pain. They can hope, they can heal,” he said happily, as if helping gave him great joy.

“Sometimes you say things that relate to other members of the Inquisition...”

He opened his mouth and his face expressed a combination of wary, confused and amazed. “They remember me. Their eyes stick, some more. They want me to _be._ Varric is quiet inside. He pulls me more to here. Makes me a person. Calls me 'kid'. A friend.” He chuckled joyously. “Solas, bright and sad, observes and accepts. Spirit self, seeing the soul, Solas, But somehow sorrows.”

“What do you sense when you focus on me?” she asked, almost afraid of his answer.

His smile was still wide, though pity seemed to leak into his eyes. “You're too bright. Like counting birds against the sun. The mark makes you more, but past it... You reach across, mindful, meaning. You pull it through to this side, make it real here. And past _that_ , the weight of all on you. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight. You are theirs. It must be _very_ hard. I hope I help.”

“It must be sad feeling everyone's pain all the time.” she was hugging herself again, as he laid her thoughts bare for her to taste.

“Why?” he asked with genuine confusion, his head tipping as hers had.

“Isn't it?” She could barely handle her own emotions some days. She couldn't imagine feeling everyone else's pain.

“No. I help. I find wounds and heal them. I salve, soothe, save. I see pain and make it better. How could I not be happy?”

She nodded in understanding. He was, after all, a spirit, no matter what he looked like. It made sense that he wouldn't see it like she did. “I'm glad you shared with me, Cole.”

“You're welcome.” He studied her briefly his expression mildly confused. Before she could leave him, he stopped her and began to recite like he was reading someone's thoughts. "Taunting, tricking... slipping into shapes never fully seen. _Her_ shape. She hides herself behind shocking azure that steals my breath. Covers it all with a cloak of wit, suffering in silence. Healing, helpful, hands that cannot help themselves. Maker be her shield outside safety..." Cole abruptly stopped and before her eyes, he flickered out of sight, leaving her with a fist clenching her heart.

She had planned to hunt down the rest of her inner circle, but after Cole's outburst, she felt herself drawn to the tower that Cullen had claimed as his own. It stood the tallest of the rest, just above the entry gates. She climbed to the battlements from the lower courtyard, the climb leaving her mildly winded by the time she reached his door. She knocked softly and heard his voice answer brusquely. She stepped into the spartan office, getting a look around before he looked up from his desk. The desk itself stood toward the back of the tower in front of an arrow slit window that looked out over the mountain path that led to Skyhold's drawbridge. It was laden with papers, much like his table had been inside his tent at Haven. Bookshelves lined the back wall and circled the sides of the square room stopping in the middle where the doors off the battlements broke the walls. She was still gazing around the room when he finally looked up. "You knocked," he stated in shock as he recognized it was her.

She shrugged lightly, wondering if the thoughts Cole had been picking up on were his, or someone else completely. It wasn't like she could outright ask him, and Cole didn't seem like he was going to share his source. "Become divinely touched and miraculously you get manners," she snarked.

He set down his quill and stood, stretching his arms out to the sides before resting his hands casually in their usual place on his sword hilt. “So long as you're here, I have a report to share. I've found where the Red Templars came from. Therinfal Redoubt. The knights were fed Red Lyrium until they turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete.” He paced to his book shelves, his hands leaving the casual drape over his hilt and clenching in anger.

“You never did tell me how you handled Samson after he attacked me,” she said, sensing hostility in the way he spoke the man's name.

“I took a page from Meredith's book. When he survived the initial withdrawl, I expelled him from the Order. I figured he would just go back to his miserable life on the streets, begging for coin to buy lyrium. I knew he was an addict, but this...” There was a look of pure disgust on his face when he turned to her. “Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. It's power comes with a terrible madness.”

She shrugged, trying to bring his smile back. She loved his smile. “From what I glimpsed, he was wearing enough red lyrium on his person that he should be crazy already... Well, crazier...”

Her quip hadn't worked. He was still sneering. “He seemed clear-eyed at Haven. Even so, a deluded Commander is no less worrisome. The Red Templars still require lyrium. If we find their source, we can weaken them _and_ their leader.”

“Oh, an upper hand! For me? It's not even my birthday, Commander,” she agreed.

“We'll need every advantage against what courses through their veins,” he said ominously. “Caravans of Red Lyrium are being smuggled along trade roads. Investigating them could lead to where it's being mined...” His face softened even if he didn't smile. “If you confront them, be wary. Anything connected to Samson will be well guarded.”

“You seem to be taking this extra personally,” she pointed out as he continued to refuse a return of her banter or to crack a smile.

He sighed deeply. “When I arrived in Kirkwall, Samson and I shared quarters. He seemed a decent man, at first. Now Samson serves Corypheus as his loyal general.”

“Why do you think Samson joined Corypheus?” she wondered.

“He had a chronic lyrium addiction," he pointed out, as if that were all the reason necessary. "He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers... Perhaps Corypheus flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium. Perhaps that's all it took.”

She smirked. “If you think about it, he was offered his heart's desire and a way out of dying in a gutter. It's not surprising he joined Corypheus.”

His look was serious in response to her jest. “I'd rather _die_ than kneel to Corypheus. Clearly Samson felt otherwise. I don't understand how he became so powerful. Even with Red Lyrium, Samson's glory days are long behind him.”

She nodded thoughtfully, remembering the madman that had attacked her in the store room. He just might have been desperate enough to join Corypheus. “I'll... leave you to your thoughts,” she said finally. "If we're both up tonight, would you fancy a rematch?"

Finally he turned the gentle smile on her that she had been looking for. “I would like that very much.”


	31. Old Friends and New Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Philippa is in Crestwood, she is able to meet up with her twin and her old friend Solona. After Solona and Garrett head to the Western Approach, Philippa sticks around Crestwood to help bring stability back to the area.

The rest of her hunt for her companions led her to the tavern, where Bull and his Chargers had apparently taken up residence in the downstairs bar, and Sera had miraculously put together a room on the second floor that had so much color and so many textures happening all at once that it was enough to give _anyone_ a headache. Above the armory, Philippa found Cassandra trying to strangle Varric as their differing opinions about her brother finally came to a head. She managed to break up the argument and find the words to comfort them both. Vivienne spent most of her time on a balcony overlooking the main hall that had a bird's eye view of the courtyards outside as well. Solas had taken up residence on the opposite side of the main hall from the gardens on the bottom floor of the rotunda there. He had begun painting, using the walls as a canvas to tell the story of the Inquisition in an elven style of art. From there, she could climb the rounded staircase up to the second floor balcony. A library circled the hollowed out tower, small alcoves created by bookshelves set up in U formations all around. In one of the alcoves, Dorian had a wing-back chair dragged beside one of the stained glass windows so he had easy access to all of the books which he had taken upon himself to unpack and catalog. Up the final staircase, Leliana had space in the Rookery where she kept her enchanted ravens and coordinated her spy network. Varric surprisingly spent a lot of his time by the fireplace near the entrance to the main hall. In her attempt to ingratiate herself, she headed toward him, seeing he was scribbling on a stack of papers on the table in front of him. "Battling the demons of paperwork? That's a fight nobody walks away from clean," she said teasingly.

Varric set down his quill and got up from his seat with a grin on his face as if he were ecstatic that she had interrupted his work. "You have no idea the number of times I've almost been killed by bills of lading." He approached her with a shrug, still smiling. "I've been meaning to come talk with you, anyhow. I never officially joined the Inquisition. I don't know how to do this... disciplehood thing. I'm a businessman. Never really followed a chosen one before."

She wrinkled her nose. "The last thing I need is for it to get back to my brother that I'm calling you all my disciples. I just need friends at my back."

Varric snorted. "If you knew how intimidating you are, you wouldn't make it sound so simple. You just don't know what you are to the people out there. The 'Herald of Andraste' is a symbol bigger than any of us."

Philippa sighed, wishing again that she had never allowed them to start calling her that. "There's no way I can be bigger than myself, Varric."

He smiled sweetly. "Sure you can. You don't see yourself like they do. The sky tears open. Demons everywhere. To ordinary folks, these are the end times. The only hope they have is you. You're the sign that somebody might hear their prayers, that maybe they're not abandoned after all." He paused and chuckled. "You heard the crowd singing after Haven was attacked."

She drew her head back. With every word that had slipped from his mouth, she had felt worse and worse about her ability to live up to whatever hype was being circulated about her. Ever the one to hide her feelings so she wouldn't burden anyone else, she slapped on a smile and said, "Please tell me you aren't going to burst into song now."

He shook his head. "Don't worry, I'm not that cruel." He looked her up and down briefly and then tossed his thumb over his shoulder. "I should probably get back to work, unless..." he shrugged and grinned. "You up for a game of Wicked Grace?"

Philippa gladly joined Varric for a quick round of cards that turned into him teaching her the finer points of cheating and bluffing that she had never been able to master playing as a teenager in the Circle. It made her feel only slightly better about his opinion of her and her status.

Philippa took the time to try and ingratiate herself with everyone, even though she couldn't help spending more time with the ones she already had a working rapport with. Dorian was especially chatty, fascinated by her abilities. Solas had initially tried to ask her about her gifts, but it had not felt as easy to open up to him as it was to Dorian. The longer she knew Solas, the more he confused her, and frankly made her slightly uncomfortable. As they chatted about her abilities, Dorian suddenly paused and sat back with a frown. "It occurs to me that you're a mage."

She raised a brow, shifting her legs beneath her in the nest of pillows where she sat. "That _just_ occurred to you?"

He rolled his eyes lightly and continued, waving his hand and sitting forward again. "I meant... you must have been part of the Circle of Magi. In the South. Meaning you were locked away like a criminal, at least until you rebelled. It's such a bizarre notion, to me."

She hugged her shins and rested her chin on her knees. "It's bizarre to me as well," she pointed out, wondering what it had been like growing up for him in Tevinter.

He smiled wide. "I believe this is a moment where we stand in mutual recognition of mankind's folly." Then he frowned again. "It's more surprising that everyone would take the idea of a mage Inquisitor so... calmly." Then he smirked deviously. "Or maybe it's not calm? Maybe the Antivan Crows are swimming in gold from all the contracts on your life. Good luck with that, by the way. Grand fun, being the one in charge." With a roll of her own eyes and recognition of his teasing, she got up and left him to finish sorting out the crates full of books stacked around him.

After she made an effort to go to the tavern for supper instead of going to her room and having something brought up, she made her way to bed. Before changing, she headed for her desk to check on the pile of reports and paperwork she had begun to receive everyday since she had accepted her new role. She gasped when she looked at the paperweight on top of the pile. Her red and black glass dragon was sitting proudly on the desk. She picked it up, convinced she was dreaming. Feeling the weight and the realness of the figure, she hugged it to her chest, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "I made you cry..." Cole's voice came from near the top of her stairs, gentle and concerned. "It was supposed to make you happy."

She brushed the tear away and looked up, somehow not startled by his presence. She smiled at him. "These aren't sad tears," she corrected, setting the dragon gently back down on the papers. "How did you know about my dragon?"

Cole padded across the room to her couch and picked up Bethany's doll, and then glanced to the head of her bed where Anders' dream-catcher now hung. He walked to her and handed off the soft toy. "Flickering thoughts fill a fretting mind. Pictures of places your mind remembers and everywhere, these... Tiny trinkets that set the fretting at ease. You're happier with them around."

She held the doll closer and looked up at him again, his wide eyes blinking slowly from between his thin, too long, bangs. She reached up with her unmarked hand and touched his cheek, smiling sweetly. "I really appreciate this, Cole. I thought these things were lost."

He smiled, his gaunt cheek pressing into her palm. "I helped?"

"You helped," she agreed, removing her hand and pulling him into a brief hug. "Thank you."

Cole was quick to disappear, and in spite of her dream-catcher now being back in place above her bed, Philippa was awoken in the middle of the night by her dreams, corrupted red templars taking prominence. When she left her room, she cast a wisp to follow her, lighting her way. Instead of looking desperate, she took a detour from going directly to the gardens and started one of her mental maps, determined to discover Skyhold's secrets as she had every other fortress she had ever lived in. She slipped into the door that usually led to Josephine's office, and instead of continuing forward, she turned left and headed down the stairs. The narrow stairs led her to a narrow hall that spilled out into what had likely once been a formal dining hall. Just off the other side was the kitchens and she slipped through, apologizing if she was in the way to the single baker still burning the midnight oil. The woman shook her head, recognizing who she was and offered her cookies from the fresh batch she had just baked. Philippa accepted a couple with a smile and left out the opposite door. It took her outside to the battlements above the stables. She followed the stairs down to the stables and passed the multiple stalls that merchants had set up just inside the front gates. She remained outside, passing the infirmary and climbing the stairs all of the way back up to the main hall before slipping into the gardens.

Phillippa's heart skipped when she realized that Cullen was waiting for her. "I see you couldn't sleep either," she said with a smile as she approached. She held out the extra cookie she had gotten from the baker, offering it to him.

"Maker's breath, it's still warm," he said with a blissful smile as he took it from her and bit into the soft chocolate chip masterpiece. "How did you manage this?"

She chuckled as she sat, taking a bite of her own cookie. "You'd be surprised who you run into when you wander Skyhold in the middle of the night." She hummed in satisfaction as one of the chips melted on her tongue. "Cookies were so rare in the Circle. I hate to admit it, but I've developed a bit of a sweet tooth since Haven."

"It's strange," he said, licking some chocolate from his fingertip. "So many things taste differently after lyrium. A lot of things I can't even remember what they tasted like before. But cookies... remain exactly as I remember from my childhood."

She hummed another chuckle. "Was your mother a good baker?"

He laughed lightly. "No, she was terrible. But my grandmother... she would make these little miniature pies no larger than a cupcake filled with strawberry and rhubarb and topped with whipped cream. They were my favorite treat growing up, but with three siblings, I usually had to fight to even get one."

Finishing off her cookie, she brushed her fingers together and glanced down at the board. "I used to have such a busy schedule that the other apprentices used to get to all of the good stuff before I even got the the dining hall. Finn used to sneak extra treats for me," she smiled and took her first move.

"Have you heard from him since the Breach?" Cullen asked with what sounded like genuine concern. "Is he all right?"

"Honestly, no, I haven't. I wonder if I shouldn't try and contact him. For my own peace of mind if nothing else. I still worry about him," she said with a sigh as he started on his side of the board.

"Why don't you?" Cullen asked curiously.

She fiddled with her piece, twirling it between her fingers and shrugged. "I guess I just don't want to tell him everything that's going on... He would just worry. If he's safe where he is, he should stay there."

"If I ask a question, will you promise not to read too much into it?" Cullen asked as she set her piece down.

She smirked at him teasingly. "That depends entirely on the question, Commander."

He rolled his eyes and asked her anyway. "In all the time I've known you, you've had an abundance of confidence, sometimes too much, and you've never questioned yourself. I suppose I'm simply curious why you're suddenly seeing friendship with you as a burden for the other party."

She sighed. "I'm trying... I really am. I just... I'm finding it difficult to socialize when it feels like I'm largely responsible for everything that has happened in the last six months."

"Whatever has happened is Corypheus' fault, not yours," he said angrily. "You should know that."

"I took the killing blow last time. I froze him solid and he shattered into millions of tiny pieces..." she paused and looked away, anger flooding her chest at the thought. "The bastard shouldn't even exist anymore. And just like Varric predicted, he's pulled a dragon out of his ass. How am I supposed to fight that? Everyone expects so much and..." her voice choked off and she swallowed. "... I'm barely holding it together..." the last came out a whisper and she lowered her eyes, more tears finding their way to the surface. "I'm sorry," she apologized, swallowing again. The last thing she wanted was to lay her burdens on him. He had his own problems. "I'm... Sorry..."

She pushed away from the table, standing. Before she could flee, a clattering of chess pieces broke the silence of the gardens and his hand grabbed her wrist. He was standing as well when she turned back around. He surprised her by pulling her into a hug. She stiffened briefly before his arms wrapped more tightly around her, not allowing her to escape. Maker save her she didn't want to. "You aren't alone in this fight, Hawke. The burden is not all on your shoulders."

She melted into him, burying her face in his chest and allowing him to shoulder her burdens just for a moment before she gathered her emotions that had poured out in an embarrassing fashion. She let out a soft, self deprecating snort as she pulled away from him, his arms briefly tightening around her before he allowed her to back up. Her hands itched to rest on his chest, but she hugged herself instead as she hiccoughed a laugh. Physical contact with Cullen felt odd, He had trained her against it so long ago. With Dorian, it was as natural as breathing. Why couldn't she get past the feelings she had for him? He was being friendly and she was thinking about the night she had seen him doing push ups in his tent. "Leave it to me to ruin our game."

"It's not..." he glanced down at the chess table and noticed that the pieces had all fallen over in his rush to get up and keep her from leaving. "Oh," he amended. He shrugged, turning an encouraging smile on her before saying, "I wasn't really paying attention to the game anyhow."

She laughed a bit more genuinely. "Oh, so you don't care because this was the one time I might have been able to kick your ass."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," he teased in return.

"Should we start over?" she asked hesitantly, biting her lip and hoping he would say yes. She was in no mood to be alone.

With a crooked smile, he went back to his seat and quietly began to reset the board.

They never finished their game, Philippa finding it difficult to keep her eyes open after barely an hour. Cullen shooed her off to bed, and as she climbed the long twisting staircase up to her bed, she decided that he was right in one thing. She should be reaching out to her friends and family.

After lying down between her warm blankets, Philippa drew the Fade around herself and slipped beyond the Veil. It didn't take long for her to find Finn. Instead of prying in his dreams, she simply plucked him free before she even poked her head in, leaving him a small door to return through after they had talked. He looked mildly disjointed at first with her new method of reaching him and she flinched, easing back when he finally noticed her. "Phil!" He rushed to her and lifted her off her feet with the hug he wrapped her in. "Maker's breath, where have you been? You can't write anymore? With everything going on... the sky... I feared the worst!"

She hugged him tightly in return, relishing in the embrace that in spite of all the time that had passed was still so familiar. "There's... a lot to tell you. I've admittedly been putting it off because I didn't want you to worry, but I couldn't stand it anymore, not knowing if you were safe or not."

He sighed heavily, still holding tightly to her. "Ariane and I are fine. When the sky opened up, we headed west into Orlais. Admittedly, the Dales are just as hectic as Ferelden was, but there seem to be fewer templars here. But enough about that... How... Where are you? Are you safe?"

He finally drew back to allow himself a look at her face. She chuckled slightly. "That honestly depends on your definition of safe." She lifted her hand to show him her marked palm, the Anchor flaring brightly in the dimness of the Fade around them.

"Holy..." he didn't seem capable of uttering another word as his eyes fixed inquisitively on the mark, wide with shock. He reached out, much like Cullen had and took her hand in his, holding it with both hands to study it closer. His fingertips caressed over the mark, trying to make what he could of the strange magic. "How is this possible?" he finally managed to whisper in awe. He pried his eyes from the mark to look her in the eyes. " _You're_ the Herald?"

She snatched her hand away. "Not you too, Natty. Please... I'm no one's Herald. My sensational luck simply put me in the wrong place at the wrong time as usual, and I got caught up in this insanity."

"Phil, I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just... you should hear the things people are saying about you. It's hard to not get a little bit swept up in the hype." He looked her up and down for a moment before the sudden realization hit him. "But, this is probably far from fun for you. With the state of the Veil and the demons... Oh, Phil. You must be in agony."

She inhaled a ragged breath. "I'm coping. This isn't like Kinloch. I can't exactly escape the Breach. I make do with herbs for the pain and every rift I close is one more that isn't ringing in my ears. The good news is, with this new accessory on my hand, I can do this..." She swept her arms outward and closed her eyes, remembering in vivid detail, the house he used to dream of when they were younger. She built the house around them, right down to the pictures on the walls, and the immaculately trimmed garden, pulling some of the images from his mind as he watched and silently corrected her mistakes. When she opened her eyes, his jaw was slack and he was looking around in awe of what she had done.

"Maker's breath, Weaver. I remember when simply maintaining someone's dreams was a chore for you. Now, you're rebuilding them with a gesture..." he gasped.

She lowered her arms, keeping the image in place. "Think of somewhere you've been. Your favorite place..." she urged with a smile.

He eyed her questioningly, but she saw the image as he thought of it, reaching into his mind. Some things never changed, and Philippa smiled as she shifted the image of his childhood home out of the way and painted the massive library around them. "It's the library in the Spire at Val Royeaux. Ariane and I snuck in there after the Circles were disbanded and I was able to collect a few rare tomes to add to my collection." He smiled then and looked at her. "What about you? Where's your favorite place?" She didn't need to think long. She had just left it. She scrubbed the library away and molded the Fade into Skyhold's gardens, complete with her and Cullen's unfinished chess game on the table nearby. Finn glanced around the gazebo, admiring the gardens. His eyes fell on the chess board and he quickly studied it before smirking. "You're losing, Weaver."

"How could you possibly know that?" she asked, crossing her arms.

He chuckled lightly. "You've always insisted on playing black."

She shrugged. "I'll admit, I'm a bit out of practice and my partner is relentless." She felt her cheeks flush slightly and she prayed he didn't notice.

If he did, he didn't say a word, instead, surveying the gardens further. "Where is this place anyway?"

"I'm sure you've heard of Skyhold by now, even all of the way in Orlais. We're tucked deep in the Frostbacks. You would love it here, Natty. It was built by elves centuries ago and has been abandoned several times, each group of people leaving a mark on the fortress..." she continued to describe the wonders of Skyhold from the Undercroft where the smithy was housed in the belly of the castle, all of the way to her own quarters that looked out over everything in every direction.

"In spite of everything, you sound almost happy," he pointed out with an encouraging smile.

She wrung her hands, biting her lip. "In truth, I'm terrified. It's me against Corypheus, no matter how many advisors and companions I throw at him. But here, in Skyhold, I feel like I'm home for the first time since I was a child. As happy as I was in Kinloch with you, the Circle was never a home. Not for anyone."

He nodded in agreement. "I think sometimes you never see the cage until you're let out of it. After Solona dragged me out of the Circle, I just couldn't bring myself to go back. There was far too much to see and do. It wasn't even about Ariane in the beginning. You know how I was..."

"Germ demons," she said with a giggle.

"Right you are," he agreed with his own chuckle. "But you step into the Deep Roads once and germs just don't feel as scary anymore."

"I honestly can't argue with that," she agreed. Then she sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Finn. I really should be going. I still need to find a few other people and check in on them and I have no idea what time it is."

"I understand, Phil. Just do me a favor, will you?" he asked.

"Anything," she said without hesitation.

"Don't let your life pass you by because of this Corypheus thing. You're stronger than you ever give yourself credit for," he said, dropping his hands on her shoulders and squeezing to push his point across.

She shifted into him and he hugged her. "You always know exactly the right thing to say."

Philippa went to Bethany next, making sure that she had gotten far away from Ferelden. She assured her that she and Nathaniel had gone as far north as they could without attracting unwanted attention from the Qunari. According to her, Corypehus' influence was not reaching them with the distance they were putting between them and him. It was a massive relief and she made sure Bethany planned on staying far away.

The Fade hopping wore down her mana reserves and she found it much easier to sleep after having visited them. The next few days were filled with Philippa working out a schedule for herself around Skyhold that allowed her time to socialize, finish her paperwork, take a daily stroll around the grounds, and find herself more often than not loitering somewhere near Cullen, even after telling herself she was being stupid.

The rest of her inner circle seemed to be coming around to the fact that she was being friendlier, and they were returning the favor. Let Varric send that news to Garrett.

After the brief time of relaxation, she headed out for Crestwood with Cassandra, Cole, and Dorian. Normally, she would have brought Varric along, but she could feel the tension still between him and Cassandra and she thought it would make for an awkward few weeks if she brought them both. Cole seemed to enjoy being out of Skyhold, spending the traveling time flitting in and out of sight to explore the world around them as they hopped from camp to camp between Skyhold and Crestwood. When he wasn't doing that, he was dipping into everyone's thoughts and more often than not bringing up things none of them wished anyone else to hear.

Just before they were due to arrive at the forward camp, his mind reading focused in on Cassandra, making her blush intensely even as she smiled and commented in return. "What is it, Cole? Why the odd looks?"

"Light pastry with blueberries, sticky on your fingers. Small hands reaching as Anthony tears his in half. But when you got to the kitchen, they were all gone," he recited.

"Ah, yes. They are delicious, but do not last long," she returned.

"I could get you one. The cooks don't see me," he offered.

"Just because they don't see you, doesn't mean it isn't theft," she chided, even as she smiled.

Philippa hopped from her horse, patting him gently on the nose before approaching Scout Harding, her boots sinking in the mud created by the drizzling rain that had been steadily falling for the last hour. “Good to see you safe, Inquisitor. We've got trouble ahead.”

“If _you're_ on edge, I should alert the entire Inquisition,” Philippa smirked, crossing her arms.

“Or increase my hazard pay,” the dwarf shrugged. “That's an option.”

“Are things _that_ bad?” Harding turned and beckoned Philippa to follow. Then she pointed out toward the lake. Burning below the surface there was evidence that a rift had opened somewhere below inside the lake. “Oh,” Philippa sighed, understanding Harding's concerns.

“Crestwood was the site of a flood ten years ago during the Blight. It's not the only rift in the area, but after it appeared, corpses started walking out of the lake. You'll have to fight through them to get to the cave where Ser Hawke's Grey Warden friend is hiding.”

“More walking corpses...” Philippa shrugged. “At least they won't be a surprise.”

“I nearly stepped on one in the grass the other night... before it started moaning,” Harding said with a shudder. “Maybe someone in Crestwood could tell you how to get to the rift in the lake. Maker knows they'll want help. Good luck. And please be safe.”

Philippa took one last look at the lake as she shrugged off Harding's words. She led her small group toward the village and thought out loud as she went. “There must be some other way to get to the rift in the lake.”

“It sounds different. The water changes the song,” Cole mused.

Any response she might have had was interrupted by shouts of battle and a terrified scream from a woman. Philippa sprinted ahead up the hill toward the village, her staff in her hands and a spell readied. On the road ahead there was a pair of Grey Wardens, a slew of walking corpses, and an elf scuttling away backwards on all fours. One of the Wardens shot an arrow into the corpse nearest him and then spun to help the girl to her feet and push her behind him and his companion. A fireball flew past Philippa as she twirled her staff to add her own fire to the mix. Popping and sizzling sounds fizzled from the corpse that Dorian had hit, the moisture in it's body from the lake it had crawled out of boiling instantly in the heat. The skin began to slough from it's bones as it shrieked and attempted to turn on them with legs that no longer had muscles to keep it upright. Philippa ended it with a spirit bolt loosed into it's skull and the Wardens shouted in excitement to have help, thanking Andraste.

Once the group of corpses had been dealt with, Philippa scanned the area for more threats as the Warden who had protected the elven girl urged her back to the village. His companion approached Philippa and her group. "The Wardens thank you for your aid, Inquisitor."

She slipped her staff away and frowned, crossing her arms in suspicion. "What are you doing in Crestwood?"

"Hunting one of our own," he admitted with a sadness in his tone. "We have orders to capture Warden-Commander Amell of Ferelden on sight." Philippa's fingers twitched, but she felt Cole working his magic to keep her anger from tipping their hand. The Warden continued, none the wiser. "The woman's slippery as an eel. We've been chasing her for weeks."

"What have you been told about this rogue Warden?" Philippa wondered. Why were the Wardens hunting one of their own?

"Warden-Commander Clarel ordered her capture. I can say no more than that," he said, clearly taking his oath of secrecy seriously. "I hope Amell comes quietly. I'd not fight the woman who killed an Archdemon."

"Will you stay and fight the undead here?" Philippa asked, hoping to distract the Wardens from her and her business. She needed to get to Solona without a tail.

The Warden's armor clanked as he shook his head. "My orders forbid it. Crestwood was only a detour."

"Is that all the aid we can offer these people?" the second Warden chimed in after turning from watching to be sure the elven woman made it back to her home safely.

The first continued, his expression grim. "If the Inquisition can help, I beg you to do what you can. The villagers have already lost too many."

"Farewell," Philippa grumbled as the Wardens started away.

They whispered between each other as they left and Dorian laid a restraining hand on Philippa's upper arm so she didn't storm off, but listened to their conversation. The one who had been concerned asked his companion, "Ser, are you sure we can't help the village?"

"Our orders are clear. If we can't find Warden Amell, we return to the Commander with all haste."

"Still don't feel right."

"I know, but if I judge our orders rightly, harder decisions await."

Philippa sighed as their voices faded. "None of those Wardens mentioned a new leader. I don't think they're part of Corypheus' plot to seize the order."

"They stay by oaths sworn in blood. Not theirs, then their own. They're true," Cole said in a sing song tone as he followed behind her and Cassandra as they moved toward the village.

"I hope Sol has answers for us," Philippa grumbled, pushing her soaked hair from her face.

She stopped by the elven girl's house, checking to be certain she was unhurt. On the contrary, she seemed inspired. "Did you see how the Grey Wardens saved me from those corpses? They're amazing. I'm going to see if they're looking for recruits."

"Normally, I would say good for you, but do you really want to join the Grey Wardens?" Philippa counseled with an approving hum from Dorian

"Oh, Maker," the girl gasped as she glanced at Philippa's palm. "You're the Inquisitor!" She seemed to shake off her shock and stumbled briefly on her next words. "Um... but, yes, the Wardens are heroes. They saved me from those demons, Your Worship. With all that's happening, I'd like to help people the same way."

"There are less dangerous ways to help people," Philippa urged. "The Wardens have problems of their own right now."

The girl's posture straightened as she glanced again at Philippa's glowing palm in the dismal gray of the afternoon. "Yes, Your Worship. I'm sure there's something else I can do to help."

Philippa felt she wouldn't be all together surprised to return to Skyhold and find the girl had joined them instead as she left the hut and headed back into the pelting rain. A few more stops in the village, including the mayor's house, gave her an idea of the situation in the surrounding area.

Their destination was beyond a path that was overrun by the walking dead. Their only hope of thinning the horde was to drain the lake so they could reach the rift and seal it against the demons flooding from it and inhabiting the corpses of the dead villagers. The same villagers that had perished in the Blight ten years ago in Old Crestwood which stood beneath where the lake was now. The controls to the dam, which were apparently destroyed by Darkspawn, were supposedly in a building on the dam that was guarded by a keep overrun by bandits. She hadn't intended this trip to be this complicated, but it seemed complicated was all she got anymore.

Caer Bronach was indeed overrun by bandits, and it took Philippa and her people nearly a full day to clear them all out and draw out the leader who looked like he was nearly as big as Iron Bull. Once he had been handled and the keep was deserted, Cassandra suggested they claim the keep for the Inquisition. What little of the sun that could be seen from behind the storm clouds was beginning to dip below the horizon, so Philippa agreed to make camp in the keep and send word to Harding so they could get people in to clean up the place and take it over. Once their people were settled, Philippa took her party out and they found the dam controls. They seemed surprisingly intact. “The mayor said these controls were destroyed. Who repaired them?”

“The mayor. His shame had this shape,” Cole said.

Philippa sighed and moved to push the large wheel around to open the dam and allow the flood waters back into the valley where they belonged. The mechanism clanged noisily and then as the water began to drain from the lake, a great rumbling shook the entire structure. While the lake was draining, another loud noise joined the cacophony. Philippa rushed outside to see what had made such a fuss and in the sky, there was a high dragon flying overhead, looking mildly confused about why water was flooding where she had made her home.

Philippa felt a certain thrill over seeing the powerful beast flying effortlessly across the cloudy sky. She watched it easily cross back overhead and fly off to the east before she dragged her companions to the west where Old Crestwood stood. Beneath the flooded village, old cave systems led to ancient dwarven ruins whose runes still lit the place. In the caves, Philippa discovered the bones of people who had been living down there when the flood hit. She cringed as Dorian grunted. "Best not to think about it."

When they finally found the rift, it was massive, earning them four waves of demons before she was able to get a hold on the edges and stitch them together with the mark. When they returned to the surface, Philippa was exhausted and it had blessedly stopped raining. They emerged on the opposite side of New Crestwood and she headed for the mayor to tell him that there should be no more undead attacking the village. Instead of the suspicious man, she found an empty house and a note. "A letter of confession from the mayor? It says _he_ was the one who flooded Old Crestwood ten years ago. To stop the Blight from spreading." She gritted her teeth together as the images of the skeletons in the caves crept across her vision. She crumbled the paper in her fist and threw it back onto the desk.

"It's monstrous, but if it stopped the Blight from wiping out the entire village..." Cassandra shrugged.

"What a sad mess. With the Inquisition bring him in?" Dorian wondered softly.

"Cullen needs to hear about this. He can send people to track Deidrick down," Philippa growled.

Upon leaving the village, they headed east toward the location that Garrett had given them. He was waiting outside and grinned widely when he saw Philippa. “Glad you could make it. I just got here myself. My contact with the Wardens should be at the back of the cave.”

“She's not the only Warden around here. It's a good thing her friends didn't find her in Crestwood,” Philippa said, pointing out the other Wardens they'd encountered.

“How much blood is shed by good men following bad orders?” Garrett spat angrily. He turned and led them into the cave. By the time they reached the doorway built into the walls to block the back of the cave, Garrett seemed to be over the anger. He took the handle and pulled the door open, bowing her inside. Philippa rolled her eyes and stepped into the dimly lit area. Glancing around, she briefly caught sight of a table with books and parchments piled on it before the sound of wood whipping through the air drew her attention. She turned and saw a finely crafted staff pointed directly in her face. “It's just us! I brought the Inquisitor!” Garrett intervened before Philippa met Solona's power.

It had been over a decade since she had laid eyes on Solona and she had to admit, the young, scrappy apprentice had grown into her own. She still wore Warden armor in the same make as she had during the Blight when she had freed Kinloch from Uldred. Her hair was longer, braided and dangling over one shoulder from beneath a blue hood attached to her armor. The staff she carried was fitted with a blade that could be slipped in and out of the core on the bottom with the flick of a switch. She held herself with a certain air that made Philippa recognize her not as the little girl she had helped raise, but the woman who had defeated the Blight. Her green-blue eyes flicked swiftly from Garrett to Philippa and as it dawned on her who she was looking at, they widened and the staff twirled before finding it's way behind her in a strap. "Holy nug shit! Phil!?"

Philippa snorted. "What a colorful way to greet your cousin," she said, holding her arms out in an offered hug.

Solona fell into it, squeezing her tightly before backing away to backhand Garrett on the shoulder. "Gar you ass, you didn't tell me the Inquisitor was your sister!"

Garrett took in the exchange, playfully rubbing his shoulder. "I take it you two are acquainted?" he asked, a single brow raised in curiosity.

Solona snorted, crossing her arms beneath her ample bosom. "Phil practically raised me. I'm assuming Anders left out the fact that we were all in the Circle together before the Blight? Wanker..."

"He sends his love, by the way," Garrett returned with a chuckle.

Solona rolled her eyes and looked back at Philippa. "Did you just say we're cousins?"

Philippa nodded. "Anders told me when I ended up in Kirkwall. He said our mother's maiden name was Amell. Her cousin was your mother, so technically we're second cousins."

Solona cocked her hip and tossed a glance at Garrett. "That husband of yours has a selective memory, doesn't he?" Then she looked back at Philippa. "As fascinating as this all is, and as good as it is to see you, it won't fix the problem known as Corypheus."

“I'll take all the bloody help I can get. I know it isn't easy being a Warden right now,” Philippa sighed. “I wonder though... Do you think all of this has anything to do with Corypheus?”

“You bet your ass. When you all killed Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to sweep everything under the carpet. But Archdemons don't die from simple injury. I feared Corypheus might have the same power, so I started to investigate." She paced over to the table and shuffled some of her papers. "I found hints but no proof, and then, not long after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling."

“I recall that being a bad thing,” Garrett said, crossing his arms. “But I _don't_ recall you telling me about all _this_.”

"It was a secret," Solona said apologetically. "A very dangerous one. I try to actually keep a few of my oaths to the Wardens."

“Is the Calling some sort of Grey Warden ritual?” Philippa asked, vaguely remembering Anders mentioning it in the Vinmark Mountains.

“The Calling tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim them. Starts with dreams. Then come whispers in their head. The Warden says his farewells and goes to the Deep Roads to meet his death in combat,” Solona explained. "It scared the piss out of me and Alistair when we both woke up hearing it. But when we realized it happened simultaneously, it was too much of a coincidence."

“And every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now? They think they're dying?” Garrett exclaimed, taking a step back.

"Yes," Solona hung her head. "I think Corypheus caused this, somehow. If all the Wardens die, who will stop the next Blight? That's what has them so terrified."

“And then they do something desperate... which is of course what Corypheus wants.” Garrett sighed in anger, the carefree brother she knew melting away under the concern for Anders.

"Is the Calling they're hearing real, or is Corypheus mimicking it somehow?" Philippa wondered, marking that thought under the category of things about Corypheus that terrified her.

"I have no idea," Solona admitted with a shrug. "Before all this, I'd barely heard of Corypheus. I didn't even know he was supposed to be a Magister until I started digging around. Right now, all that matters is that the Wardens are acting like they're all going to die."

Philippa felt her hands balling into fists. "How can Corypheus make all these Wardens hear the Calling?"

Solona nearly chuckled. "I have no idea. I suppose it's part of what he is. Corypheus is tied to the Blight, and not just a product of it like most Darkspawn. Wardens are connected to the Darkspawn, too. That's how he seems able to control the ones who get too close to him. And that's likely what he's doing here as well... somehow."

"So the Wardens are making some last, desperate attack on the Darkspawn?" Philippa asked, working out the idiotic plan in her head.

“I saw what a Blight did to Ferelden. If Wardens hadn't stopped it, there'd be no more Thedas.” Solona was pacing now and it made Philippa none too comfortable. “Warden Commander Clarel talked about some cockamamie blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all kicked it. When I told her she was insane, my own comrades turned on me. It's not like _I_ was the one to kill the last Archdemon, or anything." She sighed. "Grey Wardens are gathering here, in the Western Approach.” she folded a map that she had on the nearby table and handed it to Philippa. “It's an old Tevinter Ritual tower. I'm going to investigate. I could use some help.”

Philippa gripped the small map of Crestwood and the surrounding area in shaking hands. She had traveled to the Black Fens hoping to close a rift that had been reported in the valley near some ruins. They stood at the top of the hill leading into the valley. Dorian was staring at her with a look that asked, 'Are you serious'? Off in the distance, she could see the rift, a green deformity against the sky, but that was not her main concern. “Sharp hunger, biting. Teeth rip into the beast, blood flows down her throat. Sated, sleepy. Huddle in the sun, basking in the glow as it cascades over her scales. Eggs shift beneath her weight, must protect them. To the death...”

“Thank you Cole,” Philippa sighed, holding up her hand to stop him before she heard more of the dragon's thoughts than she wanted to.

As she struggled inwardly, she could feel Cole hovering in her thoughts. “You _should_ close the rift,” Cole pointed out.

Philippa shifted nervously, her boots scraping in the gravel on the road. She glanced between the rift and the sleeping dragon. Why did it have to be so close? “You are _not_ considering...” Dorian began, his voice high.

“Cole is right...” she said with a sigh. “I need to close that rift.”

“Kaffas!” Dorian spat. “What a perfect way to ruin our day.”

"If we're doing this, we're doing it quietly,” Philippa warned. “I'd prefer not to wake the dragon.”

“Yes, I like my flesh _not_ melted, Thank you,” Dorian agreed.

“I like listening to her,” Cole mused, smiling.

“Come on,” Philippa said, starting forward down the hill.

The closer they got, the larger and more terrifying the dragon looked. She had grown up around Ember, but the minuscule dragon from the Circle was nothing compared to this behemoth. Philippa kept one eye trained on it as she crept up on the rift, liberating her staff from it's holster. When the demons spotted them, the battle erupted. There was no preventing the sounds of fighting and with each crack of Cassandra's shield, every shink of Cole's blades, and every whoosh and smack from her and Dorian's staves, she cringed, her eyes flicking toward the dragon.

So far so good as the first wave of demons fell, but there were always more. Philippa felt the demons before they manifested, the despair seeping over the battlefield and chilling her. She remembered the whispers from the cave after her showdown against Corypheus. The piercing shriek of the despair demon ripped across the field and Philippa clapped her hands over her ears. A fireball zipped past her as Dorian tried, too late, to silence the demon. Her head snapped up and she saw the dragon's head lift to assess the danger to her eggs. They battled the demons and there was no hiding themselves now. The dragon let out a fearsome roar before spreading its wings and taking off into the sky. Philippa threw her hand up at the rift to try and disrupt the energy to deal a bit more damage to the enemies surrounding them and speed up the fight. Her fingers twitched as the anchor connected with the rift. A few of the wraiths that had been hovering nearby fell under the weight of the disruption, but there were still shades to deal with. She twisted around and traced a sigil, slipping the spell into her staff. The lightning storm erupted all around them and she quickly provided barriers to her friends so they didn't take any injuries from a badly placed lightening strike. The storm charged the air around them and drew the dragon's attention more toward them. “It sees us!” she shouted as the dragon altered her course in mid air.

Philippa had seconds to close the rift, after the last demon fell, before the dragon was on them. She yanked it shut and spun around, her barriers still holding strong as the dragon blasted the ground between them with a much more powerful strike of lightning than she could ever hope to accomplish. It left a burning scar across the grass and the dragon landed to roar noisily. Cassandra charged it as soon as it touched down and he began slamming it's hind leg with her shield and stabbing with her blade. The meaty thunks resounded and the dragon lifted her wing to twist her head around and see what was hitting her. Philippa watched the dragon lift her leg and she called out. “Look out, Cass!”

Cole flitted in to distract the dragon from kicking Cassandra with it's powerful back leg. He moved faster than her eyes could keep up with, zipping back and forth and riddling the dragon's opposite front leg with seeping red cuts. Philippa gripped her staff and searched the spells she had stored in it earlier that day. She recalled all of the lightning spells, knowing that to fight lightning, you needed primal earth magic or force magic. The unused spells dripped back into her chest and coiled with the rest of her mana, negating the need for a lyrium potion to restore her reserves. She flicked her fingers and stabbed her staff forward, unleashing a stonefist that rocketed across the field and smashed into the dragon's chest. She knew her petrification spell was not powerful enough to freeze a dragon, so she decided to switch to a more physical attack. She grabbed hold of her force magic and called a fist of the Maker down. Much to her surprise, the spell slammed into the top of the dragon's head and pushed it down into the dirt. The dragon's legs slid out from under it with the force of her spell, opening a window for Cassandra to slash more than a few times into the dragons' face with her sword.

The dragon lifted her head and began flailing it back and forth in an attempt to dislodge the nuisance. Dorian delved into his necromancy and cast a spell of horror on the dragon, dazing her. Philippa threw a few well placed spells, making the dragon's head droop further and Cassandra went at it again and Philippa used some more force spells, knocking the dragon's head around. Cole ceased his flitting and gazed up at the dragon. His voice was scared. “She's dying, Phil.” His pained expression was enough to make her feel even more pity for the majestic creature before her. “It hurts. Blood pools at the back of her head. White hot blinding pain. Can't protect them...”

Philippa's staff went slack in her hand. The dragon was no threat to her anymore. She watched in sorrow as Cassandra took the final blow, her sword piercing through scales and skull. The dragon let out one final wailing cry, her mangled head rearing back before it collapsed.

Philippa swallowed as Cole appeared at her side. “You stayed safe. He would be proud.”

Dorian straightened his robes. “Are you alright, Phil?”

She nodded silently, blinking away tears that stung her eyes. She pushed her hair back, her hands shaking. “What should we do about the eggs,” Cassandra asked, stoically.

“They'll die without their mother,” Cole informed them sadly.

“Just leave them,” she said, then cleared her throat before her voice cracked, wishing she could take one of the eggs with her. Dragons were exceptionally rare, and she knew how to care for dragonlings. “All of the rifts that were reported in the area are closed. We should head back to Skyhold so we can stock up and head to the Western Approach.”

“What about the Empress? Didn't Josephine mention in her last letter that she had news?” Dorian asked as Philippa began to stride away from the dead dragon.

“Um... yes. I think you're right, Dorian, thank you,” she agreed distractedly.

She spent the evening in a guilty fog. Killing dragons was not so glamorous as the Nevarrans made it out to be. They were beautiful, majestic creatures and there were so few left in the world. One more thing to hate the demons for. If the despair demon hadn't woken her, the dragon would probably still be alive and so would her eggs. Philippa rolled over in her bedroll and discovered a warm cup of tea steaming beside her on top of a small rock. She glanced around and saw no one. Cassandra snored a few feet away and Dorian was sitting closer to the fire reading a book. She picked up the cup and smiled. Cole. He knew she was upset. “Thank you,” she whispered, sitting up to sip the soothing liquid. It had exactly the right amount of sugar, just how she liked it. The drink helped to set her mind at ease.

Just as she was finishing up the drink, Cole appeared near the edge of camp. "This one survived," he said, approaching her with a black egg, veined with purple cupped in his hands.

Philippa dropped her mug, the metal clattering against the stone beside her. The sound drew Dorian's attention. "Maker's breath," she gasped.

Cole was hugging the egg to his chest. It was the size of her head, easily, but no larger than the eggs that Ember had laid back in Kinloch. Philippa took the egg from Cole and studied it, releasing a small amount of mana to get a look inside. "You're not thinking of keeping that thing," Dorian said as he approached, getting a look at the egg himself.

She shrugged, feeling like it was the right thing to do after they had killed it's mother. "I've raised dragonlings before. If it survives to hatching, there's no reason the Inquisitor shouldn't have her own dragon. It's doubtful it will get much larger than a draft horse when fully matured. High dragons are extremely rare."

Dorian's brow rose. "You said you've raised dragonlings before?" His mouth turned up in a smirk. "I love you more and more each day, Phil. Just so you know, I'm not helping you explain this to the Commander."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, folks... Phil is eventually going to have her very own dragon! Yay!


	32. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa returns from Crestwood and has to tell Cullen about the egg. After their conversation, curiosity gets the better of her and she takes a walk in his dreams against her own better judgement. While in Skyhold, some of her companions come to her with some missions.

They rode back through the gates of Skyhold and Philippa shook her head to dislodge the flakes of snow that had piled on her hair as they traveled through the mountains. The feeling of warmth that Skyhold brought filled her chest and she breathed in a deep breath before dismounting. She took the egg from where she had hitched it to her horse's saddle, wrapped in a magically warmed satchel and checked to be certain it was still warm enough after the trip through the mountains. Satisfied, she draped the satchel over her shoulder and headed for the main hall. Before she could even reach the stairs that would lead her to the keep, her path was blocked by Sera. “Cock and Balls!” Her hands were on her hips and a frown creased her brow.

“Excuse me?” Philippa asked in shock, chuckling. She walked past Sera, allowing the elf to fall into step with her.

“Cock and Balls... You go running off meet your twin or whatever, leaving me behind with these tits, and you get to kill a friggin' dragon,” she ranted.

“It wasn't by choice,” she sighed, following the stairs around, the deed still stinging in spite of the egg.

“That's my whole point, yeah? You get to have all the fun, then sulk in your lady bits, while I get to stay behind and _hear_ all about it. It's shite!” Sera complained.

They passed into the main hall and Philippa stopped her with a hand. “I promise, Sera, the next time I go to kill a dragon, I'll bring you along.”

“You friggin' better!” Having said her bit, Sera scurried off to do whatever it was that Sera did in her free time.

Philippa pulled off her gloves and continued through the hall then stopped short when she reached the dais that led to her quarters. Standing brazenly in the middle of the dais was the most elaborate throne that Philippa had ever seen. It towered over her, the back molded into the shape of the symbol of the Enchanters and coated in gold. The seat was just wide enough for one to sit comfortably while the base extended out two feet on each side. On the extra space sat six snake-like dragons almost reminiscent of the one in Teviner's Heraldry. The bottom two faced the right and left, the top two sat up tall while the middle two reached away from the throne diagonally. “Impressive, is it not?” Josephine asked, joining her. “Fit for a leader. Meant to show influence... and the burden of it. It is where the Inquisition will sit in judgment. Where _you_ will sit in judgment.”

“Do I really need to oversee even more death? I'm nearly at capacity,” Philippa asked, meaning it as a joke, but the words sounding mildly sad.

“I share your distaste for bloodshed,” Josephine said gently. “But it needn't come to that. You have just returned. I will leave you to it.”

Philippa bowed out of the conversation gratefully and with one last glance at the throne left through the door to her quarters.

After a long bath and a glance over some of the reports that had been piled on her desk, Philippa went hunting in the kitchens for a snack. She had set the egg up in a nest of thick blankets as close to her fireplace as it could get and it was relatively safe for the time being. She grabbed up an apple and began to explore some more of Skyhold that had been opened up since she'd left. Josephine had left her a note about the gardens and she was eager to get a look at them. She was certain Adan was giddy at being able to grow some of his own herbs. She was excited to see what else had been done while she was away.

The garden was breathtaking. Cherry blossom trees lightly peppered the area and to the far back the gazebo had been trimmed of a lot of the vines that had clung to it. Herbs and flowers scented the air as the sun caressed the ground. As her eyes drank in the beauty, she heard voices. She left the walkway that circled the garden. Following the voices, she smiled as she heard Cullen. She was wondering whether she'd see him outside the war room before she had to leave again. “Gloat all you like. I have this one.”

Dorian's smug response made her chuckle to herself as she neared the gazebo. “Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you.”

“Why do I even...” she spotted them sitting around the chess board. Cullen's words were cut off as he caught a glimpse of her. He stood quickly, dropping the piece he was holding and his knees banging awkwardly into the table. “Inquisitor!”

She smiled at him, enjoying his eagerness to greet her. “Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” Dorian teased.

As Cullen regained himself and sat back down, glaring at Dorian, she crossed her arms, her apple forgotten in her hand. “Are you two playing nice?” she asked with her own teasing lilt in her voice.

“I'm _always_ nice,” Dorian intoned, his voice husky as he dipped his eyes over Cullen. The Commander didn't seem to notice as he took his turn, but Philippa felt her own cheeks heating. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better.” He slid his piece across the board and Philippa cringed at the mistake.

“Really?” Cullen asked, smirking. He lifted a final piece and took the game. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.” He sat back in his chair and stretched his arms up over his head, still smirking.

Dorian's eyes flashed over the board and he sighed. “Don't get smug. There'll be no living with you.” He stood, his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. As he passed Philippa, he squeezed her arm, leaning in to kiss her cheek, and smiled before leaving her alone with Cullen, his hand lingering to trail down her arm.

Cullen cleared his throat as she watched Dorian leave. “I should return to my duties as well,” Cullen said, a challenge under his voice and his expression not betraying any feelings he might have about the display of affection Dorian had just shown. “Unless you would care for a game...” He gestured to the seat across from him that Dorian had just vacated.

“Prepare the board, Commander,” she agreed, eager to finish their game.

As his fingers artfully reset the board perfectly to where they left off, he spoke. “You've had nearly three whole weeks to think about your next move...” His eyes flicked up to glance at her with a teasing grin tugging the scar on his lip. “Am I to be disappointed to know that you didn't think about it at all?”

“I have,” she said in defense of herself. In fact, she had thought of little else but their chess matches in her free time. Though most of the thinking had not much to do with her next move. "I won't guarantee that it will win me the game though," she chuckled.

“We'll see then,” he said with a nod gesturing to the board in invitation.

“Take that!” she said jokingly, sliding one of her remaining pawns into a sacrificial space.

He studied the board before picking up his piece and plunking it down, his smile still in place. "So, your report said you encountered a dragon in Crestwood..." he led, not voicing his opinion.

She maintained her smile, but in her haste to talk about anything else, she blurted, "I would have thought you'd be more interested in how Sol was doing. She looked good."

His eyes lifted to hers and he frowned slightly. "I haven't thought about her in years. With the things that happened in Kinloch... the things I said..." he sighed. "It doesn't matter..."

The conversation fell a bit flat as they played their next moves. Finally, she realized that she had inserted her foot in her mouth and she matched his sigh. "I wasn't trying to make things weird. If you want to hear about the dragon..." she suggested, trying to remove some of the awkward silence that had fallen over them. She wished he would just open up and tell her about Kinloch. She wanted to help. The things that had happened still kept him awake at night. To have been through so much alone, it wasn't fair.

His eyes flashed back up to her, darting over her expression. “No, it's all right. I was simply... relieved everyone made it through the battle safely,” he admitted.

Her heart fluttered. “Me, too.” She realized it was her turn and without thought, simply grabbed a piece and moved it.

“I know how you feel about dragons. I'm sure you didn't slay her by choice,” he whispered with a gentle smile. He watched her for a brief moment and then cleared his throat. “I shouldn't have brought it up...” He shifted another piece and looked up at her. “Well, I believe this game is mine.”

“Wait, what?” she scanned the board, wondering when she had messed up this time.

He chuckled and leaned forward a bit, his tone light and teasing. “I gave you three weeks, Hawke. For shame.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it tight and pursed her lips. She bowed her upper body mockingly. "All hail the chess master."

He snickered. "As tempting as it is to sit here all afternoon, I'm certain you have things to do before you head out again."

She smiled and returned his own phrase that he had used after Redcliffe. "No rest for the Wicked... Plus I should check on the egg." She had been trying to think of a way to break the news to Cullen, and she was betting falsely aloof honesty was the best way to go.

He frowned. "Egg?"

She bit her lip, looking away. "The dragon... it had a nest. Cole felt bad because I felt bad after we killed her, and he went to the nest. One of the eggs survived so I... brought it home with me?" she said questioningly as she glanced back up at him through her lashes. With his dumbstruck expression she pressed forward. "Don't be mad. I know what I'm doing. I've raised dragons before, remember Kinloch?"

He opened his mouth, closing it again, and then repeating the process several times as she watched him try to find the right words. Finally, his head fell into his palms and he rubbed his face. "Maker's breath, Hawke."

"You're not mad?" she asked tentatively.

He sighed. "I shouldn't even be surprised. I think I've grown used to the insanity around here. Have you seen the monstrosities that the Inquisition calls mounts that have been springing up in the stables?"

She chuckled in relief. "I honestly didn't know you could tame dracolisks." Cullen was taking this surprisingly well. It made her wonder why, but she didn't question. There was no use in ruining a good thing.

"Neither did Dennet," Cullen agreed with his own smile. "I'll see to it that if and when your egg hatches, it will have sufficient food. Any idea what sort of time frame we're looking at here?"

"Months..." she assured him. "If not a year. Dragons stay in their eggs for quite some time."

"You're the expert," he sighed again. "I trust you."

"Thank you, Commander," she said with excitement.

"Of course," he smirked.

That night when she finally shuffled to her room, Philippa had made a decision. She was going to try and help Cullen whether he asked for it or not. It was a few hours before midnight. Cullen's pattern seemed similar to hers. He would go to bed late and wake after only a few hours of sleep, so her window was small. She stepped out onto her balcony to glance down at his tower and be certain that no lanterns were still lit. Satisfied he was at least in bed, she hurried to her own bed and laid down.

Drawing the Fade around her, she slipped through the Veil and made her way through the Fade representation of Skyhold. It was surprisingly easy to find the dreams of those around her. She could almost do it without thought. Before she accidentally slipped into the wrong dream, she reached out with her senses and hunted for the particular space that reminded her most of Cullen. Before she stepped into the dream, she heard Cole's voice. "He won't like that you're here."

Shuddering at the truth of the statement, she stepped in anyhow, making certain that she would be invisible. She merely wanted to observe and possibly get a clue about what he was so afraid of after so many years. Perhaps if she could, she might chase off the spirits that were relentlessly hounding his dreams and give him a good night's rest.

She was surprised by the serenity of the backdrop when she stepped into his mind. They were in Skyhold. She followed her senses to the largest concentration of spirits. There was nothing serene about the scene when she finally reached Cullen. He stood in full armor, his lion helm obscuring his face from her, but she would recognize his stance and movement anywhere. He was backed into a corner by no less than five demons, which in his dream looked like huge, demons of rage and terror, but Philippa could feel that they were lesser wisps, feeding off the ideas of the demon that was shaping them to it's whims. "Hawke, get back!" he shouted, and her blood turned to ice for a split second because she thought he had meant her. She whipped her head around as bolts of magic began to slam into the wisps, 'killing' them. She saw a mirror image of herself, twirling her staff with precision. Cullen threw himself at one of the larger demons, slashing at it's back to draw attention off of her. It reached up with a claw to swipe at him. He shielded the blow and stabbed upwards. She cringed as she saw one of the other demons slip past his defenses and hit him from behind, knocking him into the dirt. The demon wearing her face took out the remaining wisps and rushed to his side, dropping to her knees and dropping her staff to the ground.

"Are you hurt?" she asked in a terrified tone as she helped him to sit up, her hands wavering over his chest. He flinched, dropping his sword and reaching for his ribs. "Maker's breath..." the demon Philippa began to artfully strip Cullen of his armor until his chest was bare. "I don't see any bruising... Commander, did you pretend to be injured just so I would undress you?"

Philippa cringed at the demon's portrayal of her, and it seemed like along with the reddening of his face, Cullen was mildly suspicious as well. "How did those demons get into Skyhold?"

Demon Philippa sat forward, placing her hands flat on his chest. "Don't you remember the rift opening...?"

Philippa had seen enough. She could sense where this dream was headed and she didn't wish to see any more. She grabbed hold of the dream and whispered a sleep spell that would relocate Cullen to a peaceful, dream free sleep so she could have a chat with the demon. When he disappeared from her arms, the demon immediately got to her feet and magic erupted around her hands. Philippa scoffed and snuffed the fireworks show. "You're not supposed to be here."

The demon crossed her arms and cocked her hips. "You're the object of his desire," she purred with curious interest, dropping Philippa's voice and adopting her own natural sultry hum.

This had to be a fluke. In spite of everything she had seen and experienced, there was simply no way that Cullen would ever see her as anything other than a mage, and mages weren't to be trusted, not after Uldred. She knew better. "Check your sources, demon."

The demon pouted. "You came here to ruin my fun. I would be disappointed if you weren't such a delicious prize, yourself."

Philippa shrugged. "I think you should spread the word. Skyhold is protected by a somniari. No one is to prey on anyone within these walls. If they try, they will have me to answer to."

The demon laughed. "You think you frighten me, child? What can you do? I will take you and your power, and I will feed on whomever I please."

Without further warning, Philippa lifted her arm, balled her fist and crushed the demon with an unrestrained Fist of the Maker spell. "No one ever listens..." she sighed.

The demons that taunted Cullen were simply there for a bit of fun, like they were in most dreams. Some spirits granted good dreams, allowing the dreamers to enjoy their nights. Demons, on the other hand existed to seed nightmares. Cullen's previous trauma in Kinloch had opened his mind to demons, painting a target on him. When he was not at his best, like during his withdrawal, the demons easily slipped in and had their fun whenever they pleased. At this point, they were likely taking on any guise they pleased, simply to find anything new to push his buttons. The fact that the demon had taken her face was likely because they had just been talking earlier that day. She was sure if he had been thinking about anyone as he passed into the Fade, the demon would have taken that face instead for variety.

Philippa sighed and drew herself from the Fade. She still might not know what had happened at Kinloch, but she now knew why he was having nightmares, and she had accomplished what she had set out to do. She helped him get a good night's rest. That was all that mattered to her.

She stopped in Cullen's tower early the next morning after finishing up her paperwork, and casually checked in on him. He gave no indication that anything was amiss, so she considered her experiment a success. She left him to his duties and decided to make her rounds.

Her first stop was the tavern, 'Herald's Rest' as it had been deemed, to pay a visit to Sera. She entered from the upper level, the noise of the tavern below muted. As she walked toward the staircase to head down where Sera had her own room, she spotted Cole, leaning quietly on the rail, huddled in the shadows. She graced him with a wave and his smile beamed at her. Before she could head down the stairs, he spoke. "You helped when he didn't know he needed it."

She paused. "Did I do the right thing?" she asked him, moving around the edge toward his place in the rafters.

"Maybe?" he said with a tip of his head. "You never know until it's done. He feels happier, but something is still missing."

Philippa bit her lip, unsure. She had felt bad after invading Cullen's mind. She felt almost like she was meddling where she didn't belong. He had never asked her to help him, and if he knew she had gone into his dreams without permission he would never forgive her. She almost couldn't forgive herself. If she ever was to do that again, it would not be without discussing it with him first. She nodded and thanked Cole.

Philippa had not yet fully seen what Sera had done with her room, but when she laid eyes on the adornments, she had to say she was impressed. The tiny room was lined top to bottom with windows on the outer wall. The rightmost window was thrown open to allow a light breeze to flutter in, rippling the inquisition tapestry that she had managed to get her hands on and the blue curtains that she had tied in a knot midway down. The windows were lined all around with a cushiony sofa that was custom fitted to the space and padded even more so with mismatched pillows in random colors. Shoved to the left of the door was a tall curio cabinet that she had already filled with tons of nick-knacks ranging from wooden Halla statues to a large relief of Andraste that sat on the top. Between the couch and the cabinet, she had a pile of little treasures and paintings and baskets full of Maker-knew-what. The floor was three carpets deep, the top most one being a wolf skin rug which supported a short coffee table. Philippa glanced around, her eyes trying to make sense of everything at once. Sera snorted at her, breaking her concentration. “You've been up to something. Your face is all scrinchy, You're thinky Inky” she giggled uproariously at her rhyme and the nickname she had apparently given Philippa as Philippa's face reddened.

“I wasn't up to anything,” Philippa denied. “I'm just tired.”

"Oh, you've not been up to something, you've been up to some _one_... or they've been up _in_ you!" Sera mocked with a snort. Then she flapped her hand. “Anyway, nevermind. I've got an Inquisitor favor to ask. Just a little thing really. A little march around for some of your people. It's nothing for you, right?”

Sera flopped down in her couch, sinking into her pillows. “All right, let's hear what you've got,” Philippa said, sitting down near the open window.

“Jump right in, huh? I like that!” A giddy smile made Sera's eyes sparkle. “It's a Red Jenny thing. I got a tip that some noble stiffs are arguing over Verchiel. Land swap. They're getting little people beat up. So I need you to go to your big table and send some people to walk through town.”

“Just walk through?” Philippa asked, her brow raised.

“Just walk through,” Sera confirmed. “Easy!”

“All right, Sera. I'll have someone look into it,” she agreed as Sera picked up the lute that was propped against the wall and plucked the strings that were obnoxiously out of tune.

“It's fun, right? Being important without doing a thing... Well, not much of a thing. Not everything has to be torn skies and ancient arseholes. Every little thing makes a difference somewhere.”

Philippa agreed. Sera's request wasn't a big deal at all. They chatted a few more minutes before Sera's room began to give her a headache. She left and headed down to the tavern floor where a bard named Maryden had taken up residence beside the fire in the middle of the room. She was singing softly, a tune that Philippa didn't recognize. Not seeing Bull in his usual spot in the corner, she left the tavern. She found the Qunari and his Lieutenant in the training ring behind the armory. They were practicing a move with shields, Bull knocking Krem on his ass over and over. "Ah, come on, Krem! I'm working my ass off trying to get you to see that move!" Bull snarled in frustration.

"You've still got plenty of ass left, chief." Krem said just before he noticed her passing by. "Uh, Your Worship."

Bull spun to lay his eye on her and stopped her with an arm. "Glad you came by. I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red."

"Something I should know about?" she asked curiously, fidgeting her hands. She trusted Bull, but she was still leery of the rest of the Qunari. One did not easily forget your city being invaded and a spear through the gut.

Bull's eye was studying her as he explained, pretending to be clueless. "The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don't like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they _really_ don't like red lyrium. They're ready to work with us. With _you_ , boss. The Qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces."

"Working with the Qunari is not exactly on the top of my list of things I wanted to do this week," she said honestly with a bitter scowl, her fidgety hands moving to rest over her scar.

He nodded, his sharp eye picking out her nervous habit. "I can understand that. Might be worth hearing 'em out though..." He turned and raised his shield. "They've found a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the coast."

Krem readied his shield as well, pivoting his body to brace for the impact of Bull's bash. "They want us to hit it together. Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts. Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action."

Bull slammed into Krem's shield and nearly knocked him off his feet again. "Did you see _that?_ " he grumbled. "Go get some water." Krem slunk off and Bull returned his attention to her. "They're worried about tipping the smugglers, so no army. My Chargers, you, maybe some backup."

While he had been studying her, she had been returning the favor. She relaxed her arms. "What does this alliance really get us?" she asked cautiously.

"They wouldn't use the word 'alliance' if they didn't mean it," Bull said curtly. "Naval power. More Ben-Hassrath reports. Qunari soldiers pointed at the Venatori... It could do a lot of good."

"You seem about as comfortable with this as I do, Bull," she pointed out as he shuffled in place.

"No, I'm good," he evaded. But when her brows rose, letting him know she had his number, he sighed. "It's, uh... I'm used to them being _over there_. It's been a while."

"The Qunari I've encountered wanted to spread the Qun all across Thedas," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he said as if he didn't entirely believe himself. "Just didn't think I'd see it." He sighed. "Look, the Qun answers a lot of questions. It's a good life for a lot of people. But it's a big change. And a lot of folks here wouldn't do so well under that kind of life." His eye told her that she was one of those people. "I guess it's not like we're converting. This is just us joining forces against Corypheus. On that front, I think we're good."

She nodded. If Leliana had verified the information, as much as she hated the idea of more Qunari, she could at least meet with them and see how things went. "I suppose stopping the shipment together won't kill me. We'll see about an alliance once we're finished." She flinched as she said it.

He smiled. "Good. I'll pass word on to Cullen and Red. We can set up the meeting whenever you're ready."

They needed to postpone their trip to the Western Approach to meet up with Garrett and Solona so they could meet the Qunari on the Storm Coast. It felt fantastic to be out of Skyhold in spite of the crummy weather. Rain trickled down in a steady rattling beat on her hood. She had worn leathers to help keep some of the moisture out of her clothes, but there was only so far that would get her. Bull stopped her not far from where they had first met along the beach, turning and breaking the relative silence of the group. "All right, our Qunari contact should be here to meet us."

Out of nowhere, a very serious looking elf stepped into view. "He is. Good to see you again, Hissrad."

"Gatt!" Bull said excitedly, throwing his arms out wide. "Last I heard you were still in Seheron!"

The elf lightened up a little, smiling. "They finally decided I'd calmed down enough to go back out into the world."

Bull turned to her. "Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor," the elf nodded in greeting. "Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work."

"Hissrad?" she asked, repeating the word and hoping she was pronouncing it correctly as she glanced with a frown at Bull.

"Under the Qun, we use titles, not names," Gatt corrected.

"My title was 'Hissrad', because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it as 'Keeper of Illusions', or..."

" 'Liar'," Gatt interrupted. "It means liar."

"Well, you don't have to say it like _that_ ," Bull grumbled with a frown.

Something about this elf was rubbing her wrong. To break the tension, Philippa smirked and said, "It's so nice to hear friends say good things about me in their secret spy reports."

"He does..." Gatt agreed. "But they aren't really secret, are they?"

"Look, Gatt..." Bull started.

"Relax. Unlike our superiors, I know how it works out here," Gatt assured them. "We're in this together. The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the influence of this Venatori cult.

"Yes. Filthy, decadent brutes, the lot of them," Dorian piped up sarcastically. "I'm certain life would be much better for all of us under the Qun."

"It was for me," the elf snapped back. "after the Qunari rescued me from slavery in Tevinter. I was eight. The Qun isn't perfect, but it gave me a better life."

"Yes. One free from all that pointless free will and independent thought. Such an improvement," Dorian snipped.

Philippa turned and laid a gentle hand on Dorian's chest. "The Imperium and the Qunari both have their problems."

Dorian looked at her, smiled sweetly, and she felt the tension leave him. "Fair enough, I suppose."

Gatt sighed and she returned her attention to him. "I'm not here to convert anyone. All I care about is stopping this red lyrium from reaching Minrathous."

Bull nodded grimly. "With this stuff, the Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks. We could lose Seheron... and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here."

"The Ben-Hassrath agree. That's why we're here. Our dreadnought is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We'll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship."

"What do you think, Bull?" Philippa asked as she watched Bull's expression pinching in concern.

"Don't know," he shrugged. "I've never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we're dead. If we can't lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It's risky."

Gatt set a disapproving glare on Bull. "Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?"

Bull sneered at Gatt. Philippa suddenly hated that they were out here. "There might be Venatori mages on the ship as well. If the dreadnought can't handle them..."

Gatt scoffed. "It's unlikely there'll be more than two or three mages on the ship. And they'll be dead by the third shot. On land, though, a half-dozen Venatori attacking the dreadnought from cover could do some serious damage."

Philippa crossed her arms. "If it's dangerous for the dreadnought close to shore, why not attack when the smugglers reach open water?"

"Any decent smuggling ship can outrun a dreadnought on open water. We need to catch them close to shore."

"Why couldn't I have just brought in the Inquisition's army? We could have handled this easily," she pointed out. Give Cullen's men something to do.

"Because then the Venatori would have seen you coming and run," he stated as if she were being an idiot. "They'd schedule a new shipment for later, and our spies might not know when or where. This is risky, yes, but it's our best chance to destroy the shipping operation permanently."

She sighed, not seeing a way out of this. "Let's go hold up our end of this bargain, then."

Gatt nodded. "My agents suggested two possible locations the Venatori may be camped to guard the shore." He pointed respectively. "There... and there. We'll need to split up and hit both at once."

"I'll come with you, boss. Krem can lead the Chargers. Let me fill him in. Come by when you're ready to move." Bull left her to glare at Gatt. She really didn't like the elf's attitude. She thought about annoying him with questions, but it seemed a waste of her time. The sooner they got this over with, the better. She headed over to Bull and listened to his pep talk. "Once they're down, send up your signal. That'll let the dreadnought know it's safe to come in." Philippa had managed to get to know a few of the Chargers after Bull had invited her to drinks with them on one of the first nights they spent in Skyhold before she headed to Crestwood. They were a fun bunch to say the least, and Bull cared for his people.

"Understood, chief," Krem agreed.

"Remember, you're gonna want a volley to start, but don't get suckered into fighting at range. They've got mages." Philippa smiled behind her hand as Bull played the mother hen.

"It's all right," Krem chuckled. "We've got a mage of our own."

"I'm not a mage!" Dalish insisted from the back of the group.

"Get in close and take their enchanter down before he takes over the battlefield," Bull reminded them.

"He'll be dead before he knows it," Skinner said her dagger flashing in her hands.

"Just... pay attention, all right? The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad."

Philippa nearly laughed out loud when Krem rolled his eyes and called out Bull on his henning."Yes, I know. Thanks, Mother."

"Qunari don't have mothers, remember?" Bull grunted.

"We'll be fine, chief."

Bull grinned. "All right, Chargers! Horns up!"

"Horns up!" the Chargers echoed and moved off toward their assigned point.

Bull turned to her. "Ready whenever you are, Boss."

As they moved up the path to where the Venatori were camped, Gatt slyly began to taunt Bull. "You gave your Chargers the easier target."

Bull answered with a sardonic tone. "You think?"

"Lower and farther from the smugglers' ship? It's much less likely to be heavily defended."

"Suppose we'll do the heavy lifting, then. Just like old times."

Gatt actually laughed, shocking Philippa. She didn't think he had it in him. They came across the first encampment and between her and Dorian's magic, and Varric's projectiles, the Venatori didn't stand a chance. While they moved forward, Gatt took an interest in her friends, poking at Dorian particularly hard. "You must wish you were back in Tevinter, mage. No soldiers to guard you here, no slaves to wait on you."

Dorian handled the jabs with grace, as he handled most things. "It's the lack of fashion that really strikes fear into my heart."

"You know nothing of fear," Gatt growled, making Philippa's hand hover over her staff for a moment. That had sounded like a threat.

Dorian lightly touched her arm to restrain her. "And do you intend to teach me?" he barked.

"No. You serve the Inquisition, and the Ben-Hassrath wish an alliance. For now, that is enough."

"We're clear, Gatt," Bull announced, breaking up the conversation.

"Right. Signaling the dreadnought." Gatt knelt beside the fire and sprinkled a fine powder into the flames. A small red flash darted into the sky and burst like a flare.

"Chargers already sent theirs up," Bull nudged her with pride. "See 'em down there."

"I knew you gave them the easier job," Gatt chuckled.

Bull turned a cocky grin on him before watching the dreadnought as the massive ship swept into view. "That brings back memories," he mused. Large balls of fire leapt from the dreadnought and landed on the deck of the smuggler ship, exploding it almost instantly. Bull laughed as the ship sank. "Nice one." His amusement was short lived as out of hiding along the shore below the Chargers, more Venatori appeared. Philippa could make out the robes on at least three mages. "Crap," Bull growled.

"There are quite a few of them," she said nervously.

"Yeah," Bull choked, genuine concern painted all over his face.

"Your men need to hold that position, Bull," Gatt insisted.

"They do that, they're dead," Bull growled, turning on Gatt.

"And if they don't, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead." Gatt explained as Bull fidgeted in indecision. "You'd be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari! You'd be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!" Bull turned on him again, his expression livid, but Gatt was relentless. "With all you've given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you've betrayed us already! I stood up for you, Hissrad! I told them you would _never_ become Tal-Vashoth!"

"They're my men." Bull growled, jabbing a finger at Gatt.

"I know. But you need to do what's right, Hissrad... for this alliance, and for the Qun."

Philippa was already shaking her head before Bull even turned to her for guidance. "Call the retreat," she said immediately. No alliance was worth the Chargers. Especially with the Qunari.

"Don't," Gatt pleaded.

Bull pulled out his horn and blew a resounding note and the elf began to pace. "They're falling back," Bull said in relief.

"All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them_?" he pointed an accusing finger at her chest as he spat the words in anger.

She had had enough. "His name is Iron Bull," she growled.

"I suppose it is," Gatt sighed, defeated.

He pushed past them and Philippa watched as the mages prepared a volley for the dreadnought. "No way they'll get out of range. Won't be long now," Bull sighed.

"Bull, when the dreadnought sinks..." she began, but he cut her off.

"Sinks? Qunari dreadnoughts don't sink," he explained before the explosion rocked the shore. With no hope of survivors, he glanced at her and said, "Come on. Let's get back to my boys."

Back at Skyhold, she met Bull down by the training ring after receiving a snide letter from Gatt. Bull had been reserved and unlike himself as they traveled back from the coast. He greeted her solemnly. "Hey, Boss."

Gatt strode up to them and Philippa crossed her arms as he stood stock still and delivered what he needed to. "Inquisitor, it is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our peoples. Nor will you be receiving anymore Ben-Hassrath reports from your Tal-Vashoth ally."

Bull straightened at the reiteration of his new role and asked, "You under orders to kill me, Gatt?" Philippa found herself glaring threateningly at the elf.

"No. The Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man. They'd rather not lose two." With a half bow, he took his leave and Philippa turned to Bull who had trained his expression to one of complete neutrality.

"So much for that," he said with disappointment.

Thinking critically, Philippa said, "The loss of the Ben-Hassrath information will hurt. Can we smoke out some of your old contacts?"

A brief smile of what looked like pride crossed his lips and he said, "They'll pull their people soon enough, but we might be able to identify the agents who replace them." Krem walked up stiffly and Bull turned to him. "You're late."

They both picked up shields and Philippa backed up so she wasn't in the way. "Sorry, Chief. Still sore from fighting off all those Vints. Good to see you, Inquisitor."

Philippa returned Krem's friendly smile. "That fight against the Venatori was a bit dicey."

Krem shrugged. "We knew that you and the chief had our backs, Your Worship." He grinned conspiratorially. "Chief's even breaking open a cask of Chasind Sack Mead for the Chargers tonight."

"Damn it, Krem, that's the kind of thing you don't have to mention to the Inquisitor."

"Sorry, Chief," Krem apologized as Bull launched the footwork that normally knocked Krem on his ass.

Philippa cringed, but the thud never came. When she looked, Krem and Bull were both grinning in victory. "Ah, forget it. You're doing fine."

A few hours later, Bull summoned her to the battlements in a secluded corner. "You wanted to see me?" she asked in curiosity, assuming he had news about the agents that were being replaced, as he approached her casually.

A few guards were patrolling the area and Philippa thought nothing of them until, without warning, Bull spun and punched one in the face. His companion flung a knife and it lodged itself in Bull's shoulder. He grunted in pain and pulled a hand axe from his belt and hurled it at the thrower. One threat down, he stomped toward the one he had punched. "Bull!" she cried, her reaction delayed out of pure shock. She made to ready some magic.

"I got it!" he growled.

As the man got to his feet, he spoke in Qunlat. "Ebost Issala, Tal-Vashoth!"

Bull grabbed hold of the man's shoulders and hurled him off the battlements. "Yeah, yeah, my soul's dust. Yours is scattered all over the ground, though, so..." He grunted again, yanked the knife out of his flesh and threw it angrily to the ground. "Sorry, boss. I thought I might need backup." He shrugged. "Guess I'm not even worth sending professionals for."

"Are you all right?" she asked reaching up to examine the dripping knife wound and attempting to ready a healing spell.

"Fine. Hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed," he alluded with a wink, making her cheeks flare red as he shooed her hand away.

"What if they used poison?" she asked, pursing her lips and wishing she had something to staunch the bleeding.

"Oh, they _definitely_ used poison. Saar-qamek, liquid form. If I hadn't been dosing myself with the antidote, I'd be going crazy and puking my guts up right now." At her widened eyes, he held up his hands. "As it is, it stings like shit, but that's about it."

"You knew the assassins were coming?"

He shrugged. "Little change in the guard rotation tipped me off."

"Why didn't you tell me ahead of time?" she asked, crossing her arms.

With a teasing voice he said, "You go through years of Ben-Hassrath training to hide facial expressions when I wasn't looking?" She allowed a glare to wrinkle her expression "See? Like that." he chuckled. "If I'd warned you or the guards, the assassins would've been tipped off."

"Are you interested in getting some payback?"

"Against who?" Gatt came to mind as he asked. "The entire Ben-Hassrath? Besides, this wasn't serious. Sending two guys with blades against _me_? That's not a hit. That's a formality. Just making it clear that I'm Tal-Vashoth." he growled angrily. "Tal-Va-fucking-shoth."

She patted his arm with a reassuring grin. “Tell Cullen and Leliana what happened. We'll tighten security.”

“Will do, Boss...” When she turned to leave, he called her back. “Boss? Whatever I miss, whatever I regret... This is where I want to be.” He grinned widely. “Whenever you need an ass kicked, The Iron Bull is with you.”

She returned the grin and then he turned from her, likely to head to the tavern for a drink.


	33. Sand, Reunions and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa heads to the Western Approach to find out what the Wardens might be up to. After returning to Skyhold, she is greeted by a surprise visitor, and Cullen has a bad withdrawal day.

Philippa had almost a day when she returned from the Storm Coast, to relax before heading to the Western Approach. She was eager to get to Solona and Garrett and see what might be going on with the Wardens. She spent her free time wandering around in search of conversation. She found Dorian in the library as usual, pacing. “What's that you have there?” she asked, noting his nose buried in a sheaf of paper.

He paused his pacing and graced her with a companionable smile allowing his arm to fall to his side, the letter loose in his fingers. “A letter regarding Felix... Alexius' son.” He lifted the letter again and shook it, a deep sigh escaping before he continued. “He went to the Magisterium, stood on the senate floor and told them of you... A glowing testimonial, I'm informed. No news on the reaction, but everyone back home is talking. Felix always was as good as his word.”

“Was?” she asked, stepping toward him.

“He's dead... The Blight caught up with him.” Dorian's face gave her no indication of his feelings.

“Are you alright?” she probed, hoping he might open up to her.

“He was ill, thus on borrowed time anyhow...”

“That doesn't mean you can't regret his death,” she said softly, knowing that Dorian was trying to mask his pain. From what she understood, he had been close with Felix.

“I know,” he sighed again, his voice as soft as hers. His eyes glistened as he began to share with her. “Felix used to sneak me treats from the kitchens when I was working late in his father's study. 'Don't get into trouble in my behalf,' I'd tell him. 'I like trouble,' he'd say... Tevinter could use more mages like him... Those who put the good of others above themselves.”

“You make it sound like he was a better person than you,” she suggested with a teasing smile.

He sniffed and brushed at his cheek before chuckling softly. “What a mad thing to say. Few people are better than I.” She offered up a sympathetic raise of her brow and he sighed. “Very well a better person, clearly. Not nearly as handsome.” He turned as if he were going to walk away but paused and turned a sad smile on her. “Thankfully, Felix wasn't the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.”

She allowed him his space to grieve, moving off to find a few of her other companions. Then it was back to her quarters to check on the egg and then her desk where she tackled her own letters.

After the day of rest and catching up with her people, Philippa gathered her usual road crew and set off for the Western Approach. It was going to be a long trip, a few weeks at least, and she was happy to sit back in her saddle most days and listen to the others as they laughed and joked. Well, Varric and Dorian laughed and joked. Cassandra mostly scowled at Varric and grudgingly entertained Dorian's prodding.

The trip took them through the burnt out plains of the Dales into the lush green forests of the Emerald Graves. Philippa had never seen such beauty. The more of Thedas she was getting to see, the more she appreciated the traveling, in spite of the reasons behind the need. Cullen had given her a report of red lyrium shipments that were spotted in the Graves and she took the time along the way to meet with a man named Fairbanks who was leading a group of folks in the woods that were holding back the vicious onslaught of the bandits in the area known as the Freemen of the Dales. He pointed her to the roads through the area and she was able to gather some intel and kill a few red templars along the way. The intel she sent to Cullen. It would be a huge help in weeding out Samson's followers and cutting off their supplies if they could be tracked to a base of operations. They had to be mining the red stuff from somewhere.

The green of the Graves slowly petered out to the tan of the desert as they made their way to the Approach. The days got longer, the sun hotter, the nights shorter and practically frigid. Philippa found herself huddling as close as she could get to the fire each night when they bedded down to sleep, wishing she had someone else to sleep beside. Dorian seemed to have an immunity to the harsh rays of the sun that were threatening to burn straight through her fair skin. She was glad she had a hood and face mask that she had attached to her armor. Cassandra's nose was beet red and Varric complained constantly about the sand that whipped across the rolling dunes and found its way inside your clothes, no matter what precautions you took against it. There were barely any trees anywhere and it made for poor shelter from the elements.

By the time they reached Harding at the forward camp, the small woman's already heavily freckled face seemed to have turned into more freckle than face. The camp was set up in a ravine beside a layered cliff face that offered the collection of tents a small reprieve from the beating sun. There was a thin trickle of something that was trying it's best to be a river but coming up short. Harding greeted them cheerily as usual. “Inquisitor! Welcome to the Western Approach.” Her voice sounded choked, her lungs likely full of sand from the days she'd spent there. With a smile from Philippa, she continued. “We've sighted Warden activity to the southwest, but no one's been close enough to figure out what they're doing. Between the sandstorms and the vicious wildlife, we haven't made it far out here. One of my men got too close to a poison hot spring and gave me a slightly delirious report of a High Dragon flying overhead. In short, this might just be the _worst_ place in the entire world. Be careful out there.”

“Well, it's good to know what I'm in for,” she sighed.

Harding grinned. “Sorry I don't have more for you. We intercepted a Venatori messenger and... uh... persuaded him to give up the orders he was carrying. We have them here. This entire place... It just feels like something's not right. _Be careful_ ,” she reiterated.

Philippa glanced over the orders before they headed from the camp to follow Solona's map to the Tevinter tower. She didn't like the talk of the Venatori and took a side trip to the ruins they mentioned. Inside, they found a curious sight. A rift hung in the air, everything around it frozen in place, demons and Tevinters locked in a still and silent battle. Philippa reached out to tentatively touch some of the green and black crystals that made up the rift itself. "No shit!" Varric mumbled in awe. The mark had no reaction to the rift, and the headache that usually accompanied demons was nonexistent.

"That's... disconcerting, Cassandra grumbled.

“Everything's... frozen,” Philippa whispered, reaching out to touch a large spike of ice that had been cast, but never dissipated. “I don't think this was the Venatori...” She pulled her hand away.

“No,” Dorian agreed. “I'd say some _ancient_ Tevinter decided to alter time. I'm surprised it didn't go better.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

They made their way carefully through the ruins, and the frozen demons. The entire ceiling had been blown out and the pieces were suspended high above. If somehow time began to flow with them standing there, it would not be a pleasant experience. Philippa scurried a bit faster to make her way back outside into a courtyard separating the building they were in from another. They ran into more Venatori that were not frozen and dispatched them. Philippa sighed as the door ahead reminded her of the one from future Redcliffe. “We need five keystones.” They searched the ruins, splitting up to hunt down the stones. One they had them all and they were fitted in the door, it groaned open and she was greeted by a staff that was fitted in a hole in the ground. It stood tall, still magic surrounding it's head. “Is this what they were after?” she wondered.

“I'd be careful with that if I were you,” Dorian warned.

As much as she wanted to listen, she couldn't just leave the staff and the ruins for just anyone to find, and to seal the rift, she needed it not frozen in time. She stepped up on the raised floor and wrapped both hands around the staff. Magic tickled along her skin and she twisted it free from the base where it rested. Immediately after the staff came free, the ground beneath them quaked. “Watch out!” she called as the ground shook and small bits of rubble came down, pelting around her like a hail storm. As the magic around the staff was interrupted, a headache surged through her. “I think time's flowing again,” she said as the quaking stopped and the eerie silence they had been hearing was broken by the shriek of a terror demon.

“That's not what I wanted to hear,” Varric worried as they hurried to leave. They needed to get to the rift and seal it.

A half dozen demons met them on the way back through the mezannine and then as they approached where the rift sat, Philippa saw that the crystals had indeed begun to jut back and forth from the center of the rift like she was used to. The Tevinters were dead and she sprinted toward the rift.

“Come on, before this gets worse,” Philippa urged as she bolted around to the dais. She slung spells with the new staff, but not feeling the power that she had when using her own. It would do in a pinch, but she would be handing it over to the Inquisition.

“Pretty sure you already covered worse,” Varric grumbled as he shot from behind her, watching her back.

They managed to thwart the demons and she closed the rift, the ruins falling quiet once more as the liquidy sound of rift remnants splashed to the ground in front of her.

The Approach yielded them another keep that had been overrun by Venatori until Philippa and her people broke down the doors and cleared them out, much like they had in Crestwood with Caer Bronach. Cullen sent a familiar face to run the show there. Captain Rylen had greeted her with a jovial smile and a few jokes that made her smile.

Now they were finally crossing the desert to reach Garrett and Solona. The ritual tower was not much of a tower any longer, but it stood atop a small round cliff in the middle of a wide circular canyon. Her brother and cousin stood looking nervously across the bridge that led to the tower when they approached. Solona turned and sighed. “I'm glad you made it, Phil. I think they've already started the ritual,” her old friend said urgently when they approached.

Garrett sneered, his sun burnt nose wrinkling. “Blood magic, I'd wager. You can smell it... or see the corpses. You take point. I'll guard your backs.”

Philippa nodded and she and Solona walked shoulder to shoulder across the narrow bridge and up the long staircase to the tower. When they reached the top, it spilled them into a small area where a group of mages, with a demon each, lined the edges neatly, a pile of corpses wearing Warden heavy armor nearby. They had apparently missed the ritual. A man stood atop a dais on the far side of the open air room and gazed down at the collection of demons and Wardens. He was dressed in a light pair of pants with matching boots and a thin metal cuirass beneath a light jacket. His arms were protected by a symmetrical pair of full vambraces made of dawnstone metal. From his light skin and dark hair, and the style of his clothes and goatee, Philippa had him pegged as Tevinter before he even spoke. "Inquisitor! What an unexpected pleasure." His complexion was nearly as pasty as the white of his jacket beneath the short pony tail that he wore his black hair in. Wisps of hair fell from the tail, fluttering around his sneer as he executed a perfect bow, flourishing his hands. "Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrnatium, at your service." When he rose, the sun reflected off the heavily greased mustache and sharply pointed goatee that was surrounded by stubble that gave away the fact that they had been at this ritual for some time.

“You aren't a Warden,” Solona accused with a bitter tone.

All Philippa cared about was the stack of bodies in the corner, all wearing the armor of the Grey Wardens and the cluster of demons and Wardens standing, calm as you like, before Erimond and an active rift. The magister clucked in disappointment. "But you are. The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?" He paced casually, the smirk on his face victorious.

Philippa chose to ignore him. "Wardens!" There was no response from the mages as they stared blankly. "This man is lying to you. He serves an ancient Tevinter Magister who wants to unleash a Blight!"

A small snigger escaped Erimond. "That's a very serious accusation. Let's see what the Wardens think." He glanced at the men and lifted his left arm. "Wardens, hands up." As a group, the Wardens all mirrored his gesture. "Hands down." All of their arms dropped with his.

Solona gasped as Philippa's stomach rolled into knots. "He's got them all bloody brainwashed," Solona pointed out.

"They did this to themselves," Erimond explained, his triumphant grin still in place. "You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked _everywhere_ for help."

"Even Tevinter," Solona growled as she worked out the Magister's involvement.

"Yes. And since it was my _master_ who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan..." he preened, crossing his arms over his chest as if they were no threat. "Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."

“Ah! I was wondering when the demon army would show up.” Philippa met his 'superiority' with a glare of her own as she crossed her arms.

Erimond balked. “You knew about it, did you? Well, then, here you are. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They're now my master's slaves... This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

Philippa had heard enough. Her fists clenched and she stepped forward. “You think you can stand against me with just demons and a Fade rift? Did Corypheus not mention what I did to the Breach?”

“He did,” Erimond snarled with a nod. “He also noted what he did to _you_ at Haven.” He sneered and reached his arm toward her. Magic wreathed his hand and Philippa dropped her staff, the Anchor exploding in agony like it had at Haven when Corypheus had disturbed it with the orb. She dropped to her knees, crying out and clutching her wrist to bring the mark under her control. She vaguely felt a set of steadying hands on her as she heard Erimond taunting her while she internally fought with the Anchor. "The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again. That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade." Philippa breathed through the jarring pain and grabbed hold of the tendrils of magic that belonged to the Anchor and forced the rest away. The agony ceased and she was able to breathe again. Solona's steadying hands helped her to her feet and she took note of the rift that was hovering in the air before them. Erimond must have been using it to summon the demons for the Wardens. Erimond hadn't even seemed to notice that she had gotten back up. He was too engaged in his own monologue. "When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be..." Philippa grabbed the rift and pushed the magic back toward him. It knocked him backwards and he stumbled, falling in a heap with a cry of surprise as the rift closed. Solona looked at her with a mixture of surprise and awe. Erimond scrambled to his feet and clutching his side scurried away, shouting. "Kill them!"

The Wardens who had been utterly complacent until then, sprung into action. Philippa shook off the stinging of her mark and picked up her staff. With the clatter of battle, Garrett was drawn to them. With his and Solona's help, they easily took the Wardens and the demons. In using the rift against Erimond, it had sealed itself. As the last demon fell, Garrett ran up from the front line, flicking blood from his daggers. “So... that went well,” he chuckled bitterly, looking over Philippa to be sure she was alright as Dorian approached and took her left hand in his to examine the mark.

“You were right,” Solona said to Garrett, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Through their ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus.”

“And the Warden warriors?” Garrett wondered with a frown, glancing around. “Oh, of course. It's not _real_ blood magic until someone get's sacrificed.” He hung his head and crossed his arms.

Philippa pinched the bridge of her own nose and mumbled to herself as Dorian patted her hand and let it go. “Human sacrifice, demon summoning... who looks at this and thinks it's a good idea?” She threw her arms to the sides and turned to start pacing.

“The fearful and the foolish,” Her brother reminded her breathily.

“The Wardens were wrong, Gar, but they had their reasons,” Solona tried to interject calmly.

“All blood mages do,” he said crossing his arms. “Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions... and it never matters. In the end, you are always alone with your actions.”

Solona sighed and turned to Philippa. “I'm pretty sure I know where the Wardens are, Phil. Erimond fled in that direction. There's an abandoned Warden fortress that way, Adamant.”

“Good thinking,” Philippa said, pausing in her pacing.

“Sol and I will scout out Adamant,” Garrett said gently, recognizing Philippa's distress. “and confirm the other Wardens are there. We'll meet you back at Skyhold.”

Back at Skyhold, Philippa's first mission after checking in on the dragon egg, needed to be for her to stop in and reconnect with all of her people. She had been gone nearly two months with all of the side trips and bullshit that had come up along the way. She dreaded going to the war room, because she was convinced that there would be a pile of reports as tall as she was waiting for her. She made her way from the stables and through the courtyard, noticing all of the progress that had been made on Skyhold itself in her absence. Much of the scaffolding had come down and heraldries and flags had been hung everywhere. The stretch of land in the courtyard that had been the infirmary had been cleaned up and built into a proper healing quarters. In the upper courtyard, none of the tents remained, and it seemed that the people had all been assigned living quarters. It was the middle of the day, and there were people everywhere going about their duties, or taking a moment to relax, or socializing. Skyhold looked amazing.

Having already spoken briefly with the stoic Blackwall, and making certain that with the false Calling, his mental state was stable, she bypassed the armory and the tavern in favor of the main hall where she could stop in on Josie on her way to the war room and then head up to her quarters for a much needed soak in her tub.

Without preamble, Josie greeted her and got straight to business. “I've made some inquiries into the Imperial Court. The sooner we deal with the threat to the Empress, the better.” Philippa took the parchment that Josie handed her and scanned it's contents. “The political situation in the Empire is dangerously unstable. It will complicate matters.”

The door that led to the hall outside the war room opened and Cullen stepped in, apparently having heard what they had been talking about. With a smirk at her that brought heat to her cheeks, and threatened to sweep her knees out from under her, he said, “Everything in the Empire complicates matters. It's the Orlesian national pastime.”

Leliana joined them from the great hall with papers in her hands that she was likely delivering to the war room. “Turn your nose up at the Grand Game if you like, Commander, but we play for the highest stakes, and to the death.”

“The court's disapproval can be as great a threat as the red templars. We must be vigilant, to avert disaster,” Josie added.

Philippa nodded, trying to understand the oddness that was the Game. “Exactly what do you mean? How is it more dangerous than usual?” The notes she was reading kept blurring together and she set the paper down. She was exhausted.

“The Empress is in the middle of a civil war. Her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard, seeks to take her throne by force. Leliana reports that a group of elves has been sabotaging both armies, drawing out the hostilities... Orlais holds Tevinter at bay. All of Thedas could be lost if the Empire falls to Corypheus,” Josephine explained. “Celene is holding peace talks under the auspices of a Grand Masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there. It's the perfect place for an assassin to hide.” She leaned forward, emphasizing the urgency.

“A Grand Masquerade? I need to go shopping,” Philippa quipped, pushing away from where she was leaning on the desk and smirking.

Cullen's soft snort made her chuckle at her own joke. Josephine shook her head. “We don't have enough sway with the court to arrange an invitation. Perhaps a few more alliances...”

“Or soldiers,” Cullen suggested, clasping his hands behind his back.

Josephine scoffed. “We need a greater presence in Orlais. And soon.”

Philippa noted their opinions and sighed. The rest of her morning was spent in the war room, sorting out which of the missives and letters they'd received in her time away were the most important and which ones stood to gain them the most influence. She was eager to be out of the dark room. When Josephine hugged her clipboard to her chest and smiled and Leliana rounded the table to head for the door, Philippa almost did a victory dance. She had maintained as much composure as she could each time Cullen's eyes had fallen on her and he had slapped her with one of his adorable crooked smiles. It was getting more and more difficult to maintain a professional air when he was around. She felt like a child. “Would you care for some lunch, Hawke?” he asked as Josephine's back disappeared through the doors.

Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food and she realized she had skipped breakfast. Her eyes widened as he smiled at her again. How was she supposed to make it through a meal with him without making a fool of herself? She shrugged casually "I haven't even changed from the road. What's another hour of sand in my ass?” she joked.

Cullen's hand reached up and rubbed the back of his neck as he rounded the table to make his way to the door and hold it open for her. "If you would prefer to bathe first, I would understand."

"Actually, I was hoping to pick your brain about the reports I sent back from the Graves," she said as they fell into step together down the long hall to Josie's office.

"I am tracking them back to the source. Once I have a location, I'll send it to you straight away," he reported.

As they made their way toward the tavern, the warm sun of the day felt glorious on her skin. She realized that with all of the traveling and camping that she had been doing, she had become an outdoor person. She never saw herself as such while growing up in the Circle, though she had little opportunity to be one either. She stretched her arms up over her head and sighed comfortably. "That room can get so stuffy," she pointed out.

He chuckled in response. "I seem to remember a woman who spent her entire day happily curled up with a book when she was younger."

She shrugged. "Reading is wonderful. I still love a good book, but back in the Circle, books were my link to adventure. Now that I have the opportunity to see and do so much, I can't see staying idle for too long. What about you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Someone needs to stay behind and worry," he chucked. "It may as well be me."

Her heart fluttered and she scrambled to cover up any reaction she might have had. She made a false pout and said, "Aww. You worry about me, Commander?"

He glanced at her and swiftly said, "Of course I do! I..." he stopped himself and his cheeks reddened slightly. "You're the Inquisitor. It's my job to worry about you... and everyone else here," he added.

Her smile faded and she glanced away, watching her feet shuffle across the dirt. "Of course." She cleared her throat. "I suppose I keep you pretty busy by sending all of those reports back while I'm out 'adventuring'. When would you have the time to get out yourself?"

He turned to her, smiling. "I actually enjoy your reports. It gives me a chance to hear your opinions before you get back, and if I get a report, I know you're alive. That's important, too."

They reached the tavern and he held the door again. She stepped under his outstretched arm and into the darkened room. When they found an empty table and sat, the dwarven bartender approached them. She glanced at Cabot. “What's good today?”

“Nothing, as usual,” Cabot replied glibly.

“Then I'll take whatever you've got that is swimming in gravy,” she said with a grin, shamelessy teasing the loquacious dwarf.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled and glanced at Cullen. “You?”

"Whatever she's having," he said dismissively.

She drew her head back and chuckled. "If I'd have known you were going to mimic my order, I would have made it _much_ more interesting."

"That's what concerns me," he grinned in response. "Although, perhaps the heavy meal will help me get a better night's sleep."

Philippa dropped her elbows off the table and clasped her hands in her lap, wringing them nervously. "I've been thinking about why you can't sleep," she said leadingly, glancing up at him through her lashes. "You know what I am, Commander. If you could give me a clue about the cause of your restless nights, I might be able to..."

He cut her off with a sneer. "I've already said I don't wish to speak of it," he growled.

"...help," she finished softly with a disappointed sigh. All of that talk before about trusting her, and he still couldn't open up to let her in. She had her answer about his feelings towards her with that one growled phrase. "I'm sorry. I just..." she sighed again and lifted her elbows back to the table to bury her face and rub her tired eyes. "I thought maybe _my_ sleepless nights might be helpful in fixing _your_ sleepless nights. I should have known better than to ask."

He fidgeted, his sneer softening. "Insomnia isn't so bad when you have someone to share it with," he said gently.

Cabot dropped off their food and Philippa fiddled with her fork, pushing her food around on her plate. Lunch had sounded so good, but after the awkward talk with Cullen, she had a lump in her throat that was making swallowing difficult. She never should have built herself up to believe that he might ever care for her. It was madness. Before she could open her mouth to excuse herself, the tavern door swung open and two voices entered, talking casually and laughing.

Philippa looked up, having sat with the best view of the door. She was ready to go back to her plan to flee when she was slapped in the face by the realization of who had just entered. "Maker's breath!" she gasped. She stood from her seat, sloshing some of her food from her plate as she nearly tripped over herself and banged into the edge on her way toward the door. "Finn!" she cried, as she headed for him.

He turned to her voice, a dazzling smile across his features. "Phil!"

She stopped short, seeing the woman at his side. She smiled welcomingly before her eyes fell on Finn again. "Am I allowed to hug you?" she asked with a chuckle around excited tears.

His own laugh joined hers and he swept her up much like Garrett had done. She remembered his hugs being much more gentle, but she didn't care in the slightest. "I wasn't sure you'd be here when we arrived. I know you're busy."

She returned the squeeze he gave her, burying herself in his arms. He smelled different than she remembered. He smelled less like soap and more like leather and nature. It worked for him. "I just got back this morning." She drew back from the hug and punched his shoulder lightly. "You ass! You should have told me you were coming!"

He chuckled and indicated the woman who had entered with him. Philippa recognized Ariane, but she politely pretended she had never seen her before. "Ariane, this is Phil."

The pretty elf tipped her head, and smiled kindly. "Andaran Ati'shan," she said. "Finn has told me so much about you. It's wonderful to finally meet you." The Dalish tattoos on her face were barely visible, as they criss-crossed on her forehead and trailed down the sides of her face. Her grey eyes held intelligence and wit.

"I've probably heard even more about you," Philippa said with another smile. "It feels like we've met." She glanced back at Finn and said, "You said you were safe in the Dales. Why are you here?"

He pressed his lips together and crossed his arms with a certain swagger that she didn't remember him having before. "Ariane and I agreed that hiding in the woods when we could help seemed a bit selfish. After you showed me your level of involvement, it sort of sealed the deal. We're here to do our part."

"I was just on my way to get cleaned up..." she glanced back at the table where she had been sitting with Cullen, and noticed he was gone, his plate untouched. With a brief frown, she turned back to Finn. "If you want to come with me, I can have Josie find you accommodations and something to keep you busy."

"That sounds great," he said with a relieved sigh. "Once you've settled in, we can catch up some."

"I'd like that," she agreed.

She led the two of them from the tavern and back up to the main hall and through to Josie's office. Leaving them with the ambassador, she went back to the war room to pick up the pile of reports she had forgotten to grab when Cullen had offered to accompany her to lunch. When she slipped into the room, absorbing the familiar feel of the magic of the table, she looked up to see Cassandra pouring over maps that she had spread out over top of the carved image. When the warrior heard the door, she glanced up and sighed. "I can keep staring at this, but I won't get any closer."

"Something I can help you with?" Philippa asked, gliding around the table and picking up her piles that were secured by odds and ends objects against the light breeze that was coming in the open windows.

Cassandra looked shocked, taking in Philippa's attire and reminding her that she still hadn't gotten a chance to take that soak in the tub that she had wanted so badly before the call of Inquisitor needed to be answered. "Yes. Possibly," she said hesitantly. When Philippa arched a brow, Cassandra continued. "We saw so many red templars at the assault on Haven. Perhaps all that was left of the Order." She paced along the edge of the table, running her finger tips over the polished wood. "What we didn't see was Lord Seeker Lucius. Indeed, I've seen no hint of _any_ Seekers amongst the red templars. Or anywhere." She leaned on the table, shuffling maps again. "I've a growing suspicion Corypheus has imprisoned them."

Philippa tipped her head, resting a hip against the sill of the closest window and crossing her arms, her papers dangling in her hand. "Why imprisoned? He could just as easily have killed them."

Cassandra shook her head. "Not _easily_. But, yes, they may be dead. But the Seekers began this war against the mages. They cannot have simply vanished. There _must_ be a trail we can follow, yet so far I have only discovered hints."

"But they could have ended up just like the red templars," Philippa pointed out. "We know the Lord Seeker is not himself."

"Seekers do not use lyrium," Cassandra insisted. "I assume Corypheus gained control of the templars by corrupting the lyrium they were already taking. To do the same to a Seeker, you'd have to force the lyrium upon him. That may be what happened, but it couldn't have began that way. We're missing a piece of the puzzle, Inquisitor. I need to find it."

Philippa pushed away from the window and approached Cassandra. "Finding them obviously means a lot to you." She took up a bit of blank parchment and dipped a quill in some ink, scribbling a note for Leliana.

"I left the Order, but I can never abandon them," Cassandra agreed. "I cannot even claim that rescuing them would be beneficial... they wouldn't look kindly on the Inquisition. But even so, if there's a chance..." Cassandra followed as Philippa slipped the note into Leliana's pile and then headed for the portal door. "If we can spare resources to follow up on these leads, Inquisitor, I would appreciate it."

Philippa finally had her bath and afterwards, she tackled a bit of her paperwork before Cole showed up with his usual sneaky cup of tea for her. That was usually her hint that she was overworking herself, and she set aside her work to find Finn and Ariane.

She was unsurprised to find Finn in the new infirmary, putting his healers hands to good use. They had yet to find a place for Ariane, so Finn said she had volunteered to help Dennett in the stables for the time being. She was apparently very good with animals.

She kept Finn company in the infirmary until the shift change, and then they headed to the tavern. Bull and the Chargers were enjoying a few rounds in their usual corner while Sera idly shot padded practice arrows down on them from the second floor. Philippa had not spent much time in the tavern when it was in full swing in the evening. Maryden's songs were much more upbeat, and the atmosphere seemed less thick with dread.

After they sat and Philippa ordered them a round, she held her mug in her palms, planning to nurse it like she normally did. Finn sipped his, surprising her when he didn't cringe and set it aside. "So how are you doing, really?" he asked her gently. "You can project any image you want in the Fade, but seeing you in person..."

"You know, it's still impolite to tell me I look tired, even if we aren't a couple anymore," she said teasingly as she sipped her own drink.

"Which is why I stopped short of saying it," he chuckled, then his expression sobered. "I worry about you, Weaver."

She shrugged and set her mug down, her hands still wrapped around it. "It's like I said before. I either adapt or fall apart... I can't afford to fall apart, so here I am... adapting." She brushed off his concern and changed the subject. "I want to hear about everything you've seen since leaving the Circle. I'm still new to adventuring and I'm limited to where I'm needed."

Finn allowed the change of subject and she sighed in relief as he began to talk, telling her stories about the things he'd seen and done over the years. They were up well into the night, sharing drinks and swapping stories, and when she finally turned in, the alcohol sent her into a pleasantly deep sleep.

When she woke in the morning and started to go about her day, she felt refreshed. When she visited Cullen around mid-morning, he seemed agitated, but she figured he was just having a rough day. The encounter stuck with her through the rest of the day and finally, she returned to him in the evening to see if he was doing any better. Before she reached the tower and his office, Cole appeared, his eyes wide. “Is everything all right Cole?”

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Song sings, sullen. Trapped and tortured. Visions of the hero, real or not real? The one thing I can't have. I must Endure...” His eyes flicked to hers and they were wild and scared. “ _He_ needs you.”

“Cullen,” she gasped, instinctively knowing who Cole was channeling. She reached out and gripped Cole's arm. “Where is he Cole?”

“With the Seeker, seeking... I have failed her...” Cole said.

Philippa took off, clambering back down the stairs to the upper courtyard. Cassandra had set herself up in the top floor of the armory, so that was where Philippa began her search. She could hear Cassandra speaking before she even entered the building. “You asked for my opinion and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?”

“I _expect_ you to keep your word! It's relentless. I can't...” his voice was strained and angry.

“You give yourself too little credit!” Cassandra retorted, her tone passionate.

“If I am unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than...” Philippa could not listen any more. She understood what Cullen was asking of Cassandra. She wouldn't lose her Commander if she could help it. She wouldn't lose him. She pushed the door open and stepped into the armory. The fireplace to the back wall was the only light in the room and she blinked to adjust her vision. Cassandra crossed her arms and Cullen looked shocked to see her. The shock of seeing her swiftly turned to a deep sadness. “We will speak of this later...” he said, passing her by and leaving her with Cassandra.

The Seeker snorted. “And people say _I'm_ stubborn... This is ridiculous.” Philippa turned away from the door he'd closed behind him and her eyes questioned Cassandra. “Cullen told you that he's no longer taking Lyrium?”

“He has... While it's a little bit terrifying, I respect why he's doing it,” she said.

“As do I. Not that he is willing to listen,” Cassandra's voice held sympathy. “Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him.” Philippa's stomach clenched in fear. “I refused. It's not necessary.” Cass' hand swiped downwards in finality and Philippa breathed a short sigh of relief. “Besides, it would destroy him. He's come so far.”

“Why didn't he come to me?” Philippa wondered out loud, her shaking fingers lifting to brush her bangs from her face.

“We had an agreement long before you joined us. As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn't want to... risk your disappointment.” Cassandra said pointedly.

“There has to be something we can do to ease the suffering, and change his mind about stepping down,” she suggested, her arms wrapping around herself.

“If anyone could, it's you. Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order. Mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself... and anyone who would follow suit... that it's possible. He _can_ do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.” Cassandra patted Philippa's arm with encouragement.

Philippa thanked her and hurried to Cullen's office, praying that was where he had gone. She had a feeling he was hovering over the lyrium kit that she had accidentally discovered he kept in his drawer. As soon as she opened the door and stepped in, something crashed into the door frame beside her. She took a reflexive step back and he gasped. “Maker's breath! I didn't hear you enter... I... Forgive me.” He straightened but she could tell by the pinch in his brow that he was hurting.

She identified the shattered remains of the box and nodded to herself. Cullen was usually receptive to humor, so she led with a snarky comment. Instead of making him come to her, she approached his desk. “So long as you weren't aiming at me, I'm sure the box had it coming...” She couldn't quite mask the worry in her tone.

“I swear I didn't know you were...” He moved as if he was going to approach her then doubled over, leaning on the desk with a grunt of pain. She cringed, her stomach knotting up at his suffering. When she moved even closer, he held up a hand. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

“Are you going to be alright?” she asked gently, saddened, yet not altogether surprised that he had held her from coming closer to him.

“Yes...” he said too quickly then hung his head. “I don't know.” He took a deep breath and pushed himself upright. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dejected. “You asked what happened in Fereldan's Circle." She pressed her lips together to maintain complete silence. She had been fishing for this confession for years. She was not going to interrupt when he was finally feeling receptive to sharing. "The templars... _my friends_... were slaughtered.” He moved to stare out the arrow-slit window behind his desk, his hands fidgeting and the narrow beam of light from the setting sun casting a shadow over his features. “I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, demon after demon showing me images of the things I desired the most and then snatching them away, digging deeper and deeper into my mind... How can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. We went to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander and for what? _Her_ fear of mages ended in madness.” His tone was becoming agitated as she listened intently. “Kirkwall's Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.” He turned to look at her, the scowl on his face a punch in her gut. “Can't you see why I want _nothing_ to do with that life?”

She tried to maintain her snark, hoping she might elicit a reaction, even as she fought her own tears. To have come through so much and still be the man he was... “You picked, probably, the worst time to start fresh.” She moved to casually lean against the side of his desk, hugging herself.

“I should have seen that,” he agreed, moving to stand beside her. At least he wasn't shunning her anymore. He paced in small circles between the desk and the bookshelves. “I thought this would be better... that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't leave me...” His arms gestured wildly up and down as he raved. “How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause... I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry! I should be taking it!” That last was said through gritted teeth and he suddenly pulled back and punched his right fist into the bookcase, knocking some of the tomes to the floor. She gasped as his voice sunk to a whisper . “I should be taking it.”

“Don't bloody well worry about the Inquisition,” she said quickly. “Do _you_ want to leash yourself to that life again?” She moved as she spoke, placing herself intimately in front of him between the shelves and his chest.

He breathed heavily and it seemed as if what he had done dawned on him. “No,” His fist loosened and he dropped his arm into her awaiting hands. She gently rubbed over his knuckles, quietly checking for breaks as he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “But... these memories have always haunted me... If they become worse, if I cannot endure this...” She pulled off his glove and got a better look at his knuckles, surprised he had yet to pull away from her. His hands were cold to the touch in spite of having been in the glove and she recognized one of the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal. She hesitated to use any magic on him, even if it was a simple spell to check for a headache.

She shook her head and pressed her marked hand up against his heart over the cold hard metal of his cuirass. “Haven't I told you before... If you need a reminder, take a look at your helm. You are a lion and you _can_ endure this.” She believed in him, even if he couldn't.

He exhaled, but no smile came to his lips. She had to smile for both of them, then as he said, “All right.” He expressed his need for some time alone and she backed away, her hand lingering on his chest.

She retired to her quarters, her nerves on edge. Her hands shook as she went about bathing and dressing in some pajamas. She then paced her room before venturing out to fetch herself some food from the kitchens, wrapped in her cloak. How long was long enough? She yearned to go and check on him, but she didn't believe crowding him was the answer. In the morning, she decided and forced herself to concentrate on some reports on her desk.

Her sleep was fitful and she was up with the dawn. She eagerly threw on some clothes and brushed her hair before going down to his tower. When she arrived, he was no where around. Where in Skyhold would he go? She set off along the battlements and sure enough, he was standing near the edge, just beyond the tavern tower, gazing at the rising sun. His back was straight and he breathed deeply, a warm smile fitting in perfectly with his closed eyes. She knew the moment he sensed her because his eyes fluttered open and his smile widened. “I wanted to thank you.” He turned to speak directly to her. “When you came to see me... if there's anything...” He exhaled a breath and then rubbed his neck. “This sounded much better in my head.”

“You're looking much better,” she said, overjoyed to see him smiling again.

“I... yes,” he agreed hesitantly.

“Why didn't you tell me how bad things can get? I could have helped...” she asked in concern.

“The pain comes and goes,” he confessed, ignoring her offer. “Sometimes I feel as if I'm back there... I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

“This place isn't going to crumble if you stop and take a breath every once in a while, Commander,” she sighed, relieved he was okay, and gladdened that he was not shying away after finally sharing his pain with her.

“I'll keep that in mind.” He turned to look back at the sun as it peeked over the mountains. “I never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden's Circle. I was... not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me...” he shook his head sadly. “The way I saw mages... it sickens me. Now, I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It's a start.”

She stepped up and touched his shoulder. “For what it's worth, I like who you are now.”

He looked down at her, mild surprise flickering in his eyes. “Even after...”

She pulled away in shock to look him straight in the eyes. “Cullen, I care about you. You've done nothing to change that.” The words tumbled from her lips and she didn't have time to regret them before her face reddened. He smiled slightly and accepted her confession before changing the subject.

“What about you? You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?” There was a lightness in his tone that she hadn't expected after blurting such a loaded sentence and slipping out of her habit of always calling him 'Commander' as a rule.

“Honestly? I'm terrified,” she confessed, glad he wasn't going to tease her, and happy to put the slip of tongue behind her. “So many people depend on us... on me. Corypheus is still out there.”

He turned to her and offered a serious expression. “You've made great strides. Do not doubt yourself, or the Inquisition, just yet. If there's anything I can do, you have only to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn is back! What does this mean for Philippa?


	34. Difficult Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa finally deals with the Wardens, but it comes at a terrible price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know the decision that awaits Philippa in the Fade. How does one make that choice? This is a bit of a long one, but worth every extra page of feels.

Garrett and Solona arrived nearly a week later, giving Philippa enough time accrue a pile of personal requests from more of her friends. On the day they arrived, Garrett took the initiative to head directly for the war room and talk to her advisors before she even made it down from her quarters. When she stepped into the hallway, still unaware that they were in Skyhold, she was greeted by Varric and Garrett, talking amiably in front of the portal door. Garrett grinned excitedly when he saw her and said, “Sol and I tracked that Venatori mage back to Adamant fortress. They're looking at assault options in the war room.”

“Thank you,” Philippa said, returning the smile, surprised to see him. "When I'm finished, in there, I think Carver is back from his mission. We could all sit down and have a drink..."

"For shame, sister. It's barely seven in the morning," he teased.

She laughed loudly. "You have no concept of how long a war council can last, brother. It'll likely be supper before I'm free."

"In that case, I'll have to find someone else to day drink with," he grinned nudging Varric.

She chuckled and pushed open the heavy door and entered. Her advisors were indeed standing around the table, their heads together. When they heard the door, they glanced up. “Ah, Hawke! We were...”

“Anxiously awaiting your arrival... Some of us, more than others,” Leliana teased, cutting off Cullen with a grin and a wink directed at Philippa that made her stomach flutter.

“I wasn't... I mean, I was... We have work to do,” he snarled, his face flushing red. Over the last weeks, she had begun to allow herself to hope again, but had not had the guts to come out and say anything. So many other things called for her attention that her crush was pushed aside.

Leliana trained her expression to a more serious note and cleared her throat. “Adamant fortress has stood against the Darkspawn since the time of the second blight.”

With one last grimace at her, Cullen turned his attention to Philippa with a coy smile as he spoke. “Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls... And thanks to our Lady Ambassador...” He held out his hand, opening the floor to Josephine.

“Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They've already delivered the trebuchets.”

“That is the good news,” Leliana sighed.

“I know you're not forgetting the massive demon army waiting for us,” Philippa agreed, crossing her arms and opening the floor for ideas.

“That is the bad news,” Leliana sighed.

“Inquisition forces _can_ breach the gate, but if the Wardens already have their demons...” Cullen growled.

“ _I_ found records of Adamant's construction. There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle,” Leliana said with confidence.

“That's good,” Cullen said, his expression lightening. “We may not be able to defeat them outright, but if we cut off reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.” He nodded at Philippa who scanned the plans that Leliana laid out on the war table.

“So our plan is to lay siege to a legendary fortress filled with demons?” she asked in disbelief. She was going to have the migraine of the age before she even stepped foot in Adamant.

“It'll be hard-fought, no way around it. But we'll get that gate open,” Cullen assured her.

“It's also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause,” Josie suggested.

“The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly,” Leliana agreed. “The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They will fight to the death.”

“We've built our siege engines and readied our forces, Inquisitor. Give the word and we march on Adamant,” Cullen said.

“Okay. We leave first thing,” Philippa sighed. In spite of how daunting it felt, they needed to take care of Corypheus' demons.

With the army in tow, they were nearly three weeks on the road. She rode most of the way in the middle of her inner circle. She could feel Cole at her back, hovering just out of sight. Spread out around her was the rest. Dorian was riding at her side, talking animatedly with Solona and herself, having made fast friends with Solona and her particularly foul mouth. Solas was by himself, riding to Cassandra's right and keeping quiet, much like the stoic Blackwall. The rest, Bull, Varric and Sera were ahead. Bull was jokingly begging Varric to allow him to toss him into battle so he could throw down a smoke bomb and set traps before taking a leaping shot back to the backline. Sera giggled when Varric refused and then loudly added her own idea of standing on Bull's horns so she could shoot from above like she was shooting from a horse. The conversation ended with them both shouting 'Mayhem!' with glee and Varric kicking his pony forward so he could ride beside Garrett, who promptly chuckled loudly and backed the tossing Varric plan with vigor. "I wish Aveline would have thought of that plan. We could have easily thrown you and Bianca past so many of the nasty little glyph traps set by the crazy mages in Kirkwall."

"Or into the mouth of a dragon," Varric reminded him with a grumble. Cassandra cleared her throat and when Philippa glanced at her, the Seeker was smiling behind her hand.

Garrett waved his hand dramatically. "Aveline was never around for any of the dragon fights."

Varric rolled his eyes. "Missed all the fun, that one."

The entire journey to Adamant was much the same, until the day they were approaching the fortress. The Grey Wardens could be all but lost by the time they arrived. That was Philippa's concern as they approached the impressive structure. She could feel the pressure of the force of demons that awaited them inside the gates. The army was ahead, already moving the battering ram into position as the trebuchets flung boulders over the keep's ramparts. Adamant sat on the edge of the Abyssal Reach, one of the largest chasms Philippa had ever seen. For the Grey Wardens, Adamant was located here for easy access to the Deep Roads and the Darkspawn there. Philippa took in the vastness of the keep as Cullen spurred his horse ahead of hers to lend his expertise to the army as they worked to get inside. The Inquisition had brought siege ladders and Philippa could see arrows flying from the ramparts and down into her people as the ladders rose like corpses from the grave to latch onto the outside of the ramparts and allow Cullen's soldiers easy access to the inside of Adamant. She whispered a barrier into place around him as he boldly hopped from his horse and donned his shield to march into the fray beside the battering ram. The Wardens were above the gate dropping rocks and shooting arrows below. Her heart was already racing and she was not even inside yet.

She felt a light caress of a barrier blanket her own skin and she glanced over at Dorian who tipped his head with a smile. “They'll be fine,” he assured her softly, having followed her worried gaze toward the army, and Cullen's shield held above his head as he almost disappeared into the sea of other soldiers, and to Garrett who also dismounted and made his way into the crowd, disappearing all together before she could extend the barrier to him as well.

She bit her lip nervously and watched as the battering ram put a significant dent into the heavy reinforced gates. “Let's go,” she said to her small party and hopped off her horse. She wanted to be among the first soldiers through the gate. She hung outside of arrow range as the third hit from the ram smashed through the gates. Dorian, Cassandra, Varric, Solona and herself took off at a run as the ram backed away and the soldiers not taken out by arrows or rocks poured into the courtyard. They were met by resistance from both Wardens and demons as the Wardens realized that their fortress had been breached. Philippa dropped a chain lightening on the demons to draw their attention while the soldiers took on the Wardens.

“Pull back! They're through!” A Warden on the ramparts shouted as a flaming stone hurled from the trebuchets outside and struck above them. The thundering crash distracted their opponents long enough for them to easily clear the courtyard of demons as the Wardens fell back further into the fortress.

She took a breath to silently assess the situation as Cullen slipped into the courtyard behind them. “All right, Hawke. You have your way in, best make use of it. We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.”

“That's a worrying lack of specificity there, Commander,” she teased, catching her breath as the overwhelming amount of demons pressed down on her like a weight.

His expression remained stoic, but he teased her back, his tone making her feel a bit more comfortable. “There are more of them than I was hoping, _Inquisitor._ ”

“You don't say,” she sighed, her palm itching as the mark reacted to something nearby.

“Warden Amell will guard your back. Your brother is with our soldiers on the battlements. He's assisting them until you arrive.” Above, a shout rang out and an Inquisition soldier was thrown from the ramparts to land in a heap not far off. Philippa cringed as other soldiers below ran to his assistance and the shade responsible slithered away to wreak more havoc elsewhere. “There's too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance.” He turned to rejoin his soldiers, but before he got through the gate, he turned back to face her. “Be careful,” he said insistently.

“I always am,” she smiled before moving further into the fortress.

She needed to climb to the battlements and try to break up the resistance there so more of their soldiers could get in via the ladders. Trying to funnel them all in through the main gate could take time they didn't have. She and her small party, along with Solona, made their way inwards. They met the first set of sympathetic Wardens in a bailey, trying to fend off a few of their own. Mages already too far gone to save. "Stay back! We will not be sacrificed for some insane ritual!" One of the warriors shouted.

They continued to plead as the mages attacked. Philippa jumped to action as Solona shouted. "It's no use! They're out of their heads!"

They helped the Wardens slay their own, but the warriors brandished swords when they approached after the mages were dead. "Everyone just stay back! Keep your distance!"

Philippa lowered her staff and held her marked hand up in complacence. "We're here to end this madness, not to wipe out the Order. If you fall back, you won't be harmed."

The man who had threatened her drew back, looking astonished. "All right. My men will stay back. We want no part of this. Deal with Clarel as you must."

"Well said," Solona praised as they continued forward toward the battlements. "I had hoped some of these idiots would listen to reason."

It was hard fought through the keep and across the battlements to reach Clarel. They picked up Garrett along the way and he reported that Cullen had the soldiers holding back the Wardens from doing anything more stupid than they already had. They made their way as a group into the main courtyard where Clarel was standing atop a platform with another Warden and Erimond. Both Clarel and the other Warden were in their fifties at least, sharing graying hair that was shorn close to their heads. Clarel was a mage, from the style of her Warden armor and the staff on her back. The man a warrior. She had just finished slitting his throat and laid him gently upon a table at the edge of the platform. In the middle of the courtyard below Clarel, more Wardens were crowded around a massive rift, larger than the one she had closed in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Some looked frightened, others determined, and all of the mages looked dazed. From the small plethora of demons that hovered nearby, it was obvious why.

"Stop them!" Erimond yelled as he saw them entering. "We must complete the ritual!"

Philippa allowed the Wardens to see her hold back her people with a gesture as they turned and she took a few bold steps closer to the group of warriors and rogues. She caught a glimpse through the hovering rift and saw the biggest demon she had ever laid eyes on just on the other side. She pitched her voice so it rang loud and clear across the courtyard, even over the sound of the rift, hoping the fear she was feeling didn't manifest in her tone. “It's done, Clarel! We need to put an end to this ritual before more people get hurt! A demon army is not the answer!”

Erimond lifted his arms. “Then the Blight rises with no Wardens left to stop it, and the whole world dies! Is that what you want?” Clarel glanced at Philippa, and her face was still regretful. Erimond crossed his arms and continued. “And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty.”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will,” Clarel tried to explain, her tone pleading. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them.”

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” Solona pointed out angrily, stepping up beside Philippa.

“Corypheus?” shock washed over Clarel's face and her shoulders slumped mildly. “ But he's dead.”

"I was the one who slew Corypheus in the Vinmark Mountains! I saw him die, yet I also saw him... spoke with him, in Haven before he destroyed the village! I have no reason to lie to you!" Philippa begged.

“These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel,” Erimond growled, getting up in the woman's face.

Philippa had a few moments of hope as Clarel rubbed her forehead, trying to decide who was telling her the truth. That hope was crushed when Clarel dropped her hand and said defiantly, “Bring it through!”

As the mages surrounded the rift and the warriors moved toward Philippa, Garrett bullied past to confront them, standing between her and danger. “Please! I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!”

“I trained half of you myself!” Solona added, with a whimper. “Don't make me kill you to stop this insanity!”

The rift was opening and time was running short. Philippa could feel the pull of the Fade from the other side. Be ready with the ritual, Clarel,” Erimond coached. “This demon is truly worthy of your strength.”

“Listen to me!” Philippa shouted. “I have no quarrel with the Wardens! My own sister is one of you! If she were here, she would tell you that you're being manipulated... and some of you know it, don't you?”

A murmur came over the crowd of warriors that stood before them. One spoke up. “The mages who've done the ritual? They're not right. They were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string.”

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” Clarel called from above.

“He's not afraid, you are!” Garrett accused. “You're afraid that you ordered all of these brave men and women to die for nothing.”

“I honor your bravery, brothers and sisters, but this isn't the way. I bloody well nearly died defending this world from the Blight. If there was a honest way to stop future Blights, I would be taking it. You've been tricked,” Solona insisted.

The warriors all turned to look back at Clarel. Her expression was indeed one of fear. She glanced at Erimond who took the chance to try and salvage her faltering resolve. “Clarel. We have come so far. You're the only one who can do this.”

“Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges,” Clarel said softly. “To avoid more bloodshed.”

Erimond's expression turned to anger and frustration. His staff was in his hand in seconds. “Or perhaps, I should bring in a more reliable ally.” He turned from her and tapped the butt of his staff on the ground three times. It sparked with the red glow of corrupted magic and he shouted. “My Master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!”

From behind him, Corypheus' pet dragon flew up into the sky and let out a savage roar. It swooped low, releasing a spray of red lightning from it's lungs that charred the ground below. Wardens and her people all scattered out of the path of the dragon. It circled over head, doing some structural damage as it smashed through some statues and a tower, shrieking loudly. Philippa took cover as it landed behind them on one of the ramparts. The sound of magic ripped though the courtyard and someone's staff clattered to the ground, drawing the dragon's attention. It's head swiveled and Philippa took the chance to peer around her cover to see that Clarel had attacked Erimond. From the ground, Erimond pleaded as Clarel eyed the dragon, her fist crackling with mage lightning. “Clarel, wait...”

It was too late. The woman released the bolt, hurling it at the dragon who immediately retaliated with another lightning breath directly at Clarel. She grunted and dove out of the way as Erimond collected his staff and scurried away. The dragon took off and began blasting everything it saw. Chaos erupted and Philippa saw Clarel take off after Erimond just as the enslaved Warden mages completed the summoning, a gigantic pride demon manifesting in the middle of the yard. “Help the Inquisitor!” Clarel shouted to the remaining warriors as she gave chase.

With the dragon overhead, Philippa was extremely careful about where she stood and how she fought the demon. The air was supercharged, lightning from the dragon and the demon sparked across the ground and made the hairs on Philippa's arms stand at attention. With the help of the Wardens, the Pride demon went down easily, but more demons continued to pour through the rift. “How do we get out of here?” Varric called, his voice strained.

She hopped into a jog in the direction that Clarel had chased Erimond. If she was lucky, they would catch them. They left the courtyard and followed the stairs up onto another set of battlements. They navigated through intermittent battles between Wardens and demons, and had to dodge fire from the dragon. As they passed through a narrow underpass along the outer wall, the dragon latched itself onto the wall itself and poked it's massive head through a hole in the structure to fill the space with fire. Philippa stopped short, inches from the dragon with no where to go. She had seconds to warn her people back and duck down below the dragon's chin, erecting a barrier that didn't last long under the onslaught. As heat poured from it's throat, she could feel the vibration along her back of it's rumbling voice, and smell the distinct scent of charred and rotten flesh. She curled into the fetal position and draped her arms over her head, trapped between the wall of fire and the dragon's throat. She was tempted to reach out and jam a spell into the flesh that was so close, but it would have been fruitless. Ten whole seconds passed as she huddled before she felt hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?" Garrett asked as he helped her to her feet and then hugged her tightly.

She nodded, catching Dorian's eyes that were wide in what looked like terror. "I'm fine. Let's go."

They didn't have to go much further. At the top of a climb around one of the towers, they found Clarel at the edge of a drop off in the structure that looked down over the Abyssal Rift itself. She was brandishing her staff at Erimond who writhed on the ground between them and her. "You could have served a new god," he coughed with a strained voice.

Clarel approached him in a casual stroll, her tone disgusted. "I will _never_ serve the Blight!"

To her, it was finished. She had Erimond handled. As she raised her staff to take the final blow, the dragon dropped from the sky, startling Philippa and wrapped it's jaws around Clarel before taking off again with her in it's mouth. Philippa tracked it as it flew around them to land atop one of the overwatch towers behind them. Cursing their position, Philippa backed up past the huddling Erimond as the dragon shook it's head like a dog with a bone, gnashing it's teeth before tossing Clarel aside, broken and bloodied. She landed in front of Philippa. Her breathing was labored and Philippa could hear the blood filling her lungs with each gasp of air she took in. Clarel, however, could not be her priority. The dragon was now advancing, climbing down the tower and prowling closer and closer to her and her people. They had nowhere to go. The Warden Commander was muttering as the dragon got closer and closer. Her voice rose with each pronunciation. Her final words allowed Philippa to realize that she had been reciting the Warden's motto. "In death, sacrifice!"

Just as the dragon leapt for Philippa, a blast of magic erupted from Clarel where she laid dying beneath it's belly. The lightning struck the dragon as it pounced and knocked it powerfully off course. Philippa ducked beneath it's rolling body, one of it's wings whipping around and creating a blast of wind that nearly knocked her off her feet as it passed over head. It crashed hard on the edge of the overhang they were standing on. The weight of the dragon cracked the stone and mortar. As it righted itself and took off with an angry shriek, the push off of it's weight turned the cracks into fissures and the whole ground below them began to crumble. Philippa scrambled away from the edge, barely grabbing purchase as the ground rumbled. She glanced behind her and growled in frustration as she saw Solona stumble as the ground fell out from under her. She turned and grabbed hold of her to pull her back to the relative safety of the still cracking and crumbling stone. They ran, but it was useless. Philippa felt her stomach plummet as everything that was under her feet gave way and she started to fall. She twisted in the air, changing her perspective. The great maw of the Abyssal Rift was opened wide beneath her. The fleeting thought, gave her an idea. She controlled the Anchor. As she plummeted, she reached below toward the darkness of the ledge. She activated the mark, drawing the Fade to her. Beneath them, she opened her own rift, large enough to catch her and her people before they fell to their deaths. She curled up around herself as she passed through the tear in the Veil she had created. Immediately, the air was different and her stomach lurched as she realized she was still falling. Dampness filled her lungs as she gasped in terror, crossing her arms in front of her to block out the image of the seemingly endless sky she was falling into. She had a brief moment of sympathy for the Orzammar dwarves that came to the surface, afraid of falling up into the sky before the world flipped around her. Her stomach lurched again, rising to her throat before plummeting back down. Now instead of falling up, she was falling toward a very rocky looking ground. Just before she collided face first with it, she lurched to a halt. Curiously, she tipped her head and reached out with her marked hand toward the ground. She could barely touch it with her finger, and as soon as it touched, her floating ceased and she crumbled to the ground with an 'oof'. Similar noises from her companions sounded all around her as she slowly rolled to her knees and got to her feet.

Everything around had a greenish hue, and the rules of physics meant nothing. Rocks and boulders floated high above the ground, severed from strange looking statues that were all in various stages of crumbling. Around her feet, the same was happening with small stones and pebbles, connected to the ground with little sparks of magic that flickered in and out. Everything in sight was wet, giving the place a slimy vibe and making her wonder how the torches and candles she could see were still burning despite the moisture. As her eyes took in the strangely fascinating sights all around, and far off whispers began to make themselves known to her, she hunted for her people. Cassandra, Dorian and Varric were getting to their feet not far from her, their own expressions confused and concerned, but before she could find where Garrett and Sol had landed, she heard a voice.

"Well, this is unexpected..." Her eyes were drawn upwards to the space just above her head. For a moment, she experienced a slight vertigo sensation as she looked at Solona who was rather casually standing on the side of a rock, perpendicular to the rest of them.

As she craned her neck to look at Solona, another voice joined them and Solona craned her own neck to look 'above' her to where Garrett was in a worse state, nearly upside down on this own outcropping. "We were falling." His tone was disoriented and he moved in small circles, looking around at everything that was wrong around him. "If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom."

"No," Solona said before anyone else could respond. "Phil did something with the mark. Opened another rift. I think we're in the Fade."

After a brief inspection, Garrett grumbled. "The Fade looked much different the last time I was here."

“The first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me. Perhaps the difference is that we are here physically. This is no one's dream,” Dorian offered up, his tone the giddy one he had used in Redcliffe that brought out his inner scholar. It made Philippa smile in spite of their current predicament.

Garrett turned to look down at Philippa whose neck was craned so she could look up at him. "The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?"

Philippa dropped her eyes to look around again, her neck and her brain hurting to look at her brother and cousin standing at impossible angles. "How should I know?" she admitted. "I can't exactly remember the last time I did this." She shuffled forward, her feet meeting resistance in the uneven ground and plentiful puddles. The voices that whispered all around were getting more insistent. She rubbed at her forehead.

"Well," Garrett said. "Whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume we're safe now. That huge demon was on the other side of that rift Erimond was using, and there could be others."

Solona started walking down the wall she stood on and then gingerly stepped diagonally, righting herself. "In the real world, the rift with the demons in it was nearby, in the main hall. Can we get out the same way?"

Philippa set her sights further than her immediate surroundings and in the completely green sky, she noted at a distance, the Fade reflection of the Breach. Directly beneath it was what could only be the Black City. It was said to be visible from everywhere in the Fade, but unreachable, no matter how long you walked toward it. She wondered if the same were true in the actual physical Fade. Shaking off her curiosity, she looked for a way out. They had fallen a great distance, but she could see vaguely familiar structures that might represent bits and pieces of a twisted version of Adamant. Again, they had fallen, so the logical thing to do was climb to reach the rift. She sighed heavily as her eyes caught sight of a tall staircase ahead of them. “It beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?” She pointed. "There. Let's go."

She started forward, hearing a couple of grunts and splashing feet as Garrett found his way off his gravity defying perch to join them. As they continued forward in a cluster, Varric shuddered. "Is this really what it's like when you dream? How do you people ever sleep? Remember last time we ended up in the Fade, Hawke?"

Garrett snorted. "How could I forget? My closest friends showed such loyalty in the face of a demon's temptations."

Varric cringed. "Well, we got better. Sort of."

"My visits to the Fade are normally more pleasant," Dorian added, trying to bring up the mood of the group. "I don't usually wake up feeling the need to bathe. Usually. Sometimes... Well nevermind that." He closed his mouth, realizing he was making it awkward.

Philippa was distracted as they walked, feeling the spirits of the dead all around her, much like she had during her Harrowing so many years ago. They all clamored around her, each of them with a request. She closed her eyes, laying her hand on Dorian's shoulder so he could guide her as she walked. He didn't question her, as her brow creased and she attempted to suss out the individual requests. The first spirit she found, huddled at a table, afraid of the darkness and the demons that stalked it. His request was simple, a light. Philippa casually strolled a few feet from the group and picked up a candle that glowed brightly. She set it atop the table and felt the thankful spirit finding a bit of peace. "He died at the Conclave," she said softly to Dorian who nodded and took her hand as she returned to his side.

"Sometimes all a spirit needs is a little reassurance," he said just as gently, his smile adoring.

They didn't make it past the top of the stairs when Cassandra gasped in amazement and Philippa ground to a halt, her eyes wide. "No fucking way," Solona gasped softly. Philippa backed up a few feet to allow her mind to process.

Standing before them was Divine Justinia. It had been months since the Conclave. There was no way the woman was alive. How? “I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion...” Justinia said with a warm smile. Her Chantry robes weren't even dirty.

Cassandra stepped past them all, her own expression disbelieving but hopeful. "Divine Justinia? Most Holy?" her tone was choked.

"Cassandra," the Divine said with a sweet smile.

"Cassandra, you knew the Divine. Is this really her?" Philippa asked, unable to get a read on what exactly was standing in front of them. It was a disconcerting feeling to not know what you were dealing with.

"I..." Cassandra glanced at Philippa with an unsure expression. "I don't know. It is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but... We know the spirits lie... Be wary."

"It has to be a spirit, Phil, or a demon. No way the true Divine survived here for all this time," Solona pointed out, touching Philippa's upper arm.

“You think my survival impossible,” Justinia scoffed. “Yet here you stand, alive, in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“Really?” Garrett asked snidely, crossing his arms. “How hard is it to answer one question. I'm a human, and you are...?”

“I am here to help you,” Justinia said simply. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

Philippa frowned. “The _real_ Divine wouldn't know my title, or who I was by sight.”

“I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? It's work.”

“That bastard is going to pay for every Warden life it took,” Solona growled, stepping a little closer to the Divine.

“You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is it's lair,” Justinia explained.

“The big demon Erimond was trying to bring through?” Philippa asked, remembering the terrifying size of the demon she had seen through the other side of the rift.

“Yes,” Justinia confirmed.

“It's nearby?” she cocked her head, her heart beginning to race even faster. She knew her headache was bad, but to be in the lair of something so big and still be standing... Hooray for adjusting.

“Yes,” Justinia said again.

“Well, shit,” she grumbled, rubbing at her throbbing forehead.

Justinia ignored her outburst and continued. “When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it. These are your memories, Inquisitor.” She held out an arm to the right, where four wraith like creatures hovered harmlessly nearby. Philippa approached the nearest one, but when she got close enough to touch it, it flitted away and released a burst of energy that seared her skin where it touched her. She cried out and angrily threw a small bolt of lightning at the wraith. As the wraith died, it left behind a small orb of magic. Heedless of the others killing the other three that hovered nearby, she approached the orb, reaching out with her marked hand as if in a trance. The Anchor reacted much like it did near a rift, opening to tug on the magic and flood her senses with it. Echoes of her memories burst forth as the orb disappeared and she stumbled to the next one, her head throbbing. Each orb she drew in, shouted in her head until the final one joined them, playing out the scene behind her eyes and making her double over, clutching her forehead against the sharp stabbing pain.

_She heard noises on the other side of a door. She recognized the hallway as belonging in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cries for help echoed from beyond. She pushed open the door and saw the Divine suspended in mid air by magic. All around her in a circle there were mages, dressed in the robes of the Grey Wardens, casting the spell that was keeping her in place. Before her stood Corypheus, the orb he had, extended toward her chest. The sickly red and green magic seeped from the orb and headed for Justinia. The sound of the door and Philippa's outraged shout, "What's going on here?" drew his attention. The Divine struggled in her bonds and reached her arm around to slap the orb from his hand. Philippa jumped into action, reaching down to grab the rolling object. When it touched her palm, pain exploded and magic ripped into her, building to agonizing levels and begging to be released as Corypheus bore down on her. Finally, as he was right on top of her, the magic exploded, blowing them all back and making Philippa drop the orb._

As the vision ended, Philippa gasped and fumbled for purchase, resting her palms on her knees to keep from falling over. The others all looked similarly affected. "So your mark didn't come from Andraste," Solona said almost sadly, making her cringe as well. Even though she didn't believe, she knew there were a lot of people who did. "It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual."

"Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City," Justinia explained. "Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead."

"I never believed any of that Divinely touched mess," Philippa said truthfully. "There's no Maker required for curiosity and bad luck."

"And now you may be certain," the Divine agreed. "You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you. You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead."

Philippa glanced around at her people and when she turned back, the Divine had gone. Garrett was wearing a frown and it seemed directed at Solona. "What's wrong, Gar?" Solona asked gingerly.

"I wondered if you might be concerned about the Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision. Their actions led to her death," Garrett pointed out.

A bit of shock showed on Solona's face when she responded. "I assumed Corypheus took their minds. You've seen it happen yourself... Come on. You can add it to the things to yell at the Wardens about when we get out of here."

"Oh, I intend to," Garrett growled, starting off in the direction they had already been heading. Her brother seemed agitated and particularly angry with the Wardens.

As they moved beyond where they met the Divine, Cassandra asked the question everyone was curious about. “Could that have truly been the Most Holy?”

“Well I have no idea,” Dorian said quizzically. “If it's a spirit, it's not acting like one. No demon would have been so helpful without asking something in return.”

"I don't know about that, but this Nightmare thing, sounds like it preys on fear," Varric pointed out. "Stealing people's memories, that's low, even for a demon. Memories make us what we are. A monster that takes them away? I don't want to think about that."

"After what it did to my fellow Wardens, it's going to look good as a stain on the bottom of my boot," Solona agreed.

They didn't get far before the Nightmare itself made its presence known. "Ah, we have a visitor," a voice boomed out as if coming from a giant, stopping Philippa in her tracks as she grabbed at her head. The stabbing pain flashed across her forehead with each word it spoke. It continued to speak as demons poured in around them to block their path. Forced to listen and fight both the demons and her own head, Philippa gritted her teeth against the agony, lending as much help as she could. "Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is _me_. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten."

When the last of the little demons fell and the voice stopped taunting for a moment, Philippa could breathe again. "Not such hot shit after all," Varric chuckled as he folded up Bianca's arms and slipped her onto his back.

"Those..." Philippa gasped, trying to catch her breath after the abuse of the demon's voice. "Those were... just minions..."

Garrett moved to her side, allowing her to lean on him for a moment as she recovered. If she was going to make it through this, she needed to steel herself. After a moment, she nodded and Garrett backed off, his eyes remaining on her as she pushed forward. She heard the pleading cry of another of the trapped spirits as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She lingered behind, listening intently. _I watched the_ _Blight_ _take my land. I had nowhere to go. I tended the fields as I had, even as my flock died and my family sickened. My body wracked by pains and chills, I saw too late the_ _poison_ _that had crept into the land. In my fever dreams, the sickness covered this whole world, and I wept in fear for the family I killed with my foolish pride._

_Show me that this world survives. Show me that the poison does not take everything._

Philippa looked around, frowning. Finally, she spotted a vase full of brightly colored flowers, not far from where the spirit huddled. They looked out of place in the dull and dreary landscape. She picked up the vase and set it before the spirit who smiled thankfully and like the other, flitted away.

After sloughing through more ankle deep water and up another flight of stairs, Philippa shuddered as Dorian shouted, “Careful! I'm guessing those aren't friendly either.”

She stared vacantly at the shambling horrors that were approaching them. She whimpered as the closest one reached out to try and grab hold of her. She backpedaled, whipping the butt of her staff upwards and smacking the illusion in it's face. She glanced around, noticing that everyone there seemed to be particularly horrified by whatever they were seeing. They were being attacked by more lesser demons, not powerful enough to have their own shape. Philippa felt the fear as it swirled up around her when she looked back at the creatures. Each one looked like one of her friends or family members, all of them in various stages of red lyrium poisoning. Some had crystals jutting from their flesh, others hummed with the beginning glow of red fog, and others were nearly unrecognizable. She and her companions all shied away from fighting the demons as the Nightmare taunted them all relentlessly between skirmishes. “Perhaps _I_ should be afraid. Facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” It laughed deviously. "Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your 'faith' has been for naught."

"Die in the Void, demon," Cassadra growled angrily, her hand tightening around her sword hilt.

“Greetings, Dorian... It _is_ Dorian isn't it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.”

Dorian's hand clasped Philippa's as he cooly retorted. “Rather uncalled for.”

"Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here..."

"Just keep talking, smiley," Varric mumbled.

The Nightmare laughed in glee before moving on to Garrett. “Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a God? Anders is going to die. So is your family, and everyone you ever cared about.”

“Well, that's going to grow tiresome quickly,” he said breathily, rolling his shoulders as more of the horrors appeared to attack them. Once they were dead, he shook a mess from his blades and grunted. "Those must have been smaller fears, servants of the Nightmare. And they take the form of spiders, something so many fear."

Cassandra frowned. "You see spiders? I see maggots crawling in filth."

Philippa hummed in thought, nodding as slightly as she could around her pounding migraine. "The demons look different to all of us. They take on the appearance of something we fear."

"That's really not helping, Charmer," Varric shuddered.

Philippa moved up to walk beside her brother and she nudged him playfully, "You're afraid of spiders?"

He snorted. "You have no idea how many caves in Kirkwall were infested with spiders bigger than Varric. Why? What do you see? What is Phil Hawke's worst fear?"

She shuddered. "You really don't want to know..."

In the next chamber, they met with the Divine again and she pointed them to a barrier that was barring them from moving forward. "The Nightmare is closer now. It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger." She held her arm out, indicating more of the wraiths that held her memories. She collected them as before, bracing herself for the agony as the memories shoved their way back inside her.

_She watched herself and the Divine running for their lives through the Fade from demons similar to the ones she now faced, although in the memory, they looked more like an abomination version of herself. They made it to the top of a ridiculously steep set of stairs where a large rift stood open. She urged Justinia forward, but the older woman fell behind. Philippa turned to take her hand and help her, but she was grabbed by her robes by the grasping hands of many more demons. Justinia patted her hand, urged her to flee, and let go. She was ripped from Philippa's hands and the abominations bore down on her. All she could do was run for the rift._

Philippa shook her head as the memory faded, then a realization struck her as she glanced at Justinia standing before her. "It was you... They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine behind me. And then you... she died." She felt her throat closing as tears threatened.

"Yes," Justinia said softly, her own face stricken.

"So whatever we're talking to is just a spirit," Solona observed.

“You don't say,” Garrett agreed with venom.

"I am sorry if I disappoint you," Justinia said sadly, making Garrett's expression soften to one of guilt and sadness. Then she closed her eyes and the face of the Divine was enveloped in a bright yellow glow that spread throughout her body, turning her from the Divine into a floating spirit that glowed as brightly as the sun, the relative shape of a person wearing the Divine's tall hat remaining.

When her eyes recovered and Philippa was able to look upon the spirit, she gasped. "Are you... her? Did you linger here to help me, instead of passing on?" She was dealing with plenty of spirits trapped in this particular portion of the Fade. Perhaps the Divine was one of them. The thought was heart-wrenching. She deserved better.

Philippa sensed a smile on the too bright face. "If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one." She still spoke in the Divine's gentle Orlesian accent.

“What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the Temple, thanks to the Grey Wardens,” Garrett accused bitterly.

Solona pinched her brow with a heavy sigh. “Should I repeat myself like I'm speaking to a child? It wasn't their fault! I will be more than happy to argue about this until the cows come home, but not here. Once we return to Adamant...”

“Assuming that the Wardens and their demon army didn't destroy the Inquisition while we were gone!” Garrett all but shouted.

Philippa's stomach did a back flip as the thought bounced around in her own head. Was Cullen all right? Blackwall, and Bull and Vivienne, Sera and Solas. Cole... Carver? She had no way of knowing while they were stuck in the Fade. Solona continued to argue, allowing Garrett to goad her. “So what are you saying? There's only justice in chaos when _you're_ the one stirring the pot? You tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!”

“To protect innocent mages, not madmen drunk on blood magic!” They were right in each other's faces now, snarling. “But you'd ignore that, because you can't imagine a world without the Wardens... even if that's what we need!”

"The Wardens are a risk," Cassandra intoned. "Send them away before they cause even more trouble."

"I don't know what to tell you," Varric added. "There are a few good ones, but an awful lot of the Wardens I've known went crazy."

Dorian's opinion differed just a bit. “They might still be useful. What if Corypheus conjures another Blight? You never know.”

Philippa was fed up. She needed to get back. How long had they been here? Did time even flow the same there? Before Garrett could start again, Philippa moved to jump down their throats. “Sweet Maker, could both of you please shut up! We can argue once we've escaped from the giant fear demon!” Her head was nearly beyond her ability to endure. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and curl up in a ball to ignore the world.

Both Solona and Garrett's brows shot up in surprise before Garrett tossed his chin over her shoulder. “Phil!”

Philippa spun and saw more of the awful fear bred horrors making their shuffling way toward them. “The Nightmare has found us!” the spirit called, rising up to continue to the next barrier.

“Form up!” Solona called, twirling her staff in preparation.

Garrett drew his daggers and took a fighting stance. “I'm with you.”

The debate seemed to subside after that. The Nightmare demon was not finished, however, hoping to seed their anger further. "Silly little 'Sol'. All that anger knotted up inside. You escaped your death at the hands of the Archdemon, only to have the Calling creeping into your thoughts. What would Alistair say if he knew you sought escape again? Would he call you a coward?"

Solona chuckled hollowly. "You really don't know Alistair..."

Philippa helped another spirit before they moved forward to find the 'Divine' again. As she dropped the tarot card she had found into the cauldron as the spirit had requested, she watched it flutter to the bottom. Dorian approached her, his hand settling on her shoulder. "We shouldn't linger, sweetheart."

She nodded. "I know. It just... feels good to help." They followed after the others and she wrung her hands in front of her as she explained. "During my Harrowing, I encountered the spirits of all of the failed apprentices that had come before me. I was fifteen at the time and I barely knew what a somniari was, let alone knew how to be one. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how."

Dorian tutted. "Darling, Phil... Always putting the well-being of others over her own." He smiled and nudged her. "It's an admirable trait."

"You admire me, do you?" she teased, with a smirk.

"Perhaps a little," he shrugged, taking her hand again so she would stop wringing them together. "Don't tell anyone, though."

As they approached another barrier, and the spirit as she worked to bring it down, it was apparently Philippa's turn to be taunted. "Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life! I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!"

"Ah!" the spirit said in triumph. "So if we banish you, we banish the demons? Thank you, every fear come to life."

It growled in rage, but the slip apparently was unintentional and the demon stopped it's taunting, giving Philippa's head a rest from it's booming voice. Not far ahead, there were a pair of pride demons. "Fasta Vass, but that's a big one," Dorian cursed softly as they all ducked behind rocks to stay out of sight.

"Ah, we've fought bigger," Varric mused as he cocked Bianca and readied her for a fight.

Philippa shook her head and lowered the crossbow with a gentle hand. "Stick to cover and we can sneak around."

After a brief coordination between her, Dorian, and Solona, they each picked a target and laid down fire mines. Then, as a group, they crept further toward freedom. Before they were in sight of the demons, each of them burst their mines and drew the attention away from them and behind the demons. The demons predictably trundled for the rocks and Philippa waved her people behind their backs.

Philippa heard a sniffling cry as she passed by a short distance from the demons. She flinched as the child whimpered in her head. _Haven_ _is burned. Mama cries when I'm not looking. It's cold in the mountains, and my feet hurt, but Mama says to hush, that others have it worse. She says a monster named_ _Corypheus_ _came to Haven, and it was only the Maker's blessing that let us escape. I don't feel blessed. The monsters come every night when I sleep, and I don't want to wake Mama crying again._

_I miss Ser Snort. Ser Snort always kept the monsters away in my dreams._

Philippa spotted the small stuffed animal not far off. She flicked her eyes to the demons and gauged whether she could creep to the stuffed nug and get it to the child. Children were particularly deserving of freedom from lingering in the Fade, especially a place as horrifying as this. She dropped to a crouch, and snuck from behind the rock where she hid. She reached out from behind another short rock and snatched the toy from the ground. Then she threw herself out of sight again just as one of the demons turned to look in their direction. Breathing heavily around her racing heart, she saw Garrett looking at her with wide eyes. She shrugged and reached up to carefully place the nug on the bed where the child cowered.

Just past the demons was another area blocked by the Divine and one of the barriers. As she worked to bring it down, the Nightmare seemed to know they were getting close, because it sent everything it had at them. Despair, fear and rage suffused the battlefield as they protected the Divine. Philippa could barely keep up the will to continue fighting as the slurry of emotions battered her from within and the demons attacked her on the outside. Garrett kept close to her, as if fighting at her side helped him to control his own struggles while they faced the onslaught.

Philippa felt the barrier fall behind her and spun to observe the Divine hurrying them through. Varric took a final potshot at a despair demon and raced for the exit, most of the others on his heels. Philippa made certain everyone got through before her. "You must get through the rift, Inquisitor. Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons... and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade." The five spirits she had been able to help hovered nearby with one final thanks as they swept past them. She turned a smile on them and felt them leaving the horror of the place. Now she knew how Cole felt when he 'helped'.

"The rift!" Garrett cried in excitement, pointing through a gap in the rock wall between them and freedom. "We're almost there!"

"Great, Hawke. Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you," Varric chided warily.

He wasn't wrong. Around the bend, between them and the rift was the biggest shard of living red lyrium that had ever existed. It was easily larger than Skyhold and possibly even the mountain it stood on. In front of it was another demon that reminded Philippa of an arcane horror, but much more deadly. It had a set of six segmented legs on it's back and the top half of it's face was obscured by a lump of flesh from which four tentacles dangled over it's lip-less mouth and down the front of it's chest. She felt herself backing away, her heart racing. The spirit of the Divine pushed her gently out of the way and floated up toward the danger. "If you would, please tell Leliana, 'I am sorry, I failed you, too'."

Arcs of lightning and magical energy jolted from her glowing body as she approached the massive shard. One of them struck the horror, knocking it aside and then she burst apart in a beam of light in the Nightmare's face. It knocked the beast off it's legs, stunning it. Philippa saw their opportunity to run for the rift, but the Aspect got up from where it had fallen, pushing up on it's segmented back legs and hissed in anger. They needed to hurry if they wanted the Divine's sacrifice to mean something.

It flickered in and out of existence like a dream, making many of her spells fall on dead air, wasted. She took to setting glyph traps all over with all of the mana she could muster. Eventually as it flicked back and forth around them, between her companions best efforts and the glyph traps it hit enough that it fell to the ground and disappeared. Their luck held out, and they managed to clear the battlefield just as the Nightmare was beginning to stir. She hurried everyone along, charging for the rift, and pausing as Varric, Dorian, and Cassandra rushed through to safety, to see that Garrett and Solona had gotten caught up behind her. She hurried back to urge them forward, but the Nightmare slammed one of it's giant clubbed arms down behind her, blocking the path again.

"We need to clear a path!" Solona said over the noise of the rift and the movement of the demon.

"Go. I'll cover you!" Garrett urged, drawing his daggers.

Philippa refused to budge, even going so far as to grab hold of his gauntleted arm. She would not lose her brother in this mess. Before Philippa could protest, Solona spoke again. "No. You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must..."

Garrett flinched in her grasp, his muscles tightening to pull free. "A Warden must help them rebuild! That's _your_ job. Corypheus is _mine_!"

They both looked to Philippa and her eyes darted from one to the other, tears building up to blind her. There was no time and they were making her choose. How did one make the choice between two lives? Two loved ones? “No! We're all going to get out of here,” she choked softly, her own words like a physical thing blocking her windpipe.

Garrett chuckled softly and pulled her into a brief hug, kissing the top of her head. "This is my chance to make up for letting the templars take you away all those years ago, Phil. I love you... Say goodbye to Varric for me." He twisted his arm from her grip and grabbed hold of Solona, shoving both of them toward the rift. His daggers appeared in his hands again, and he charged for the legs of the Nightmare, grumbling under his breath. "Spiders. Always the Maker-damned spiders..." he hacked at it's underbelly, making it shuffle to the side and out of her and Solona's path.

Solona grabbed her arm and Philippa realized she had ceased moving. She spurred herself forward, making certain that Garrett had not done something completely stupid in vain. In a split second decision, she cast a barrier around her brother as he fought. She and Solona stepped through the rift, falling a few feet to the ground. Philippa landed on her hands and knees, her breath caught in her chest. All around, Inquisition and Wardens fought the demons that seemed to be everywhere. Her fear threw her into action. She stood and summoned every bit of focus she had to the anchor. With a sharp balling of her fist, the rift audibly slammed closed behind her. The demons that the soldiers were fighting all simply fell to the ground, their earthly bodies disintegrating and melting into the stone of the courtyard, and her headache slipped away.

Cheers erupted all around and she again felt her stomach lurch. She had just murdered her own brother. Solona stood before her, a bitter smile on her face at having survived. "No demon army for Corypheus, it appears. The Divine... or her spirit... was right," she shrugged, wincing and placing a hand over her side. "You know that's not how they see it, though. They just saw their Inquisitor work another miracle."

“ _They_ came out of this alive. As far as I'm concerned, they can tell whatever stories they like,” Philippa choked, holding back her tears and resisting the urge to hug herself.

"I suppose 'The Inquisitor and her Warden friend escaped by the skin of their teeth' wouldn't be as good for morale," Solona said lightly.

One of her scouts came rushing forward before Philippa could respond. "Inquisitor. The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those who weren't corrupted helped us fight the demons."

One of those Wardens stepped up to place a fist to his chest in salute. "We stand ready to help make up for Clarel's... tragic mistake."

"Where's Hawke?" Varric demanded, rushing to her side and causing a flash of nausea to roll over her. She glanced at Solona, praying she would explain, but her cousin simply looked away with guilt. "Where's Hawke?" Varric asked again, his voice choking.

Philippa cringed, her tears finally spilling down her cheeks. At all of the expectant eyes on her, she raised her voice. "My brother sacrificed his life to save us and strike a decisive blow against Corypheus.

"Well..." Varric lowered his head and looked away.

Surprisingly, it was Cassandra who moved to his side, touching his shoulder. "Varric, I'm..."

He spun out of her touch and stormed off, much like Philippa felt like doing. Instead, she set a glare on everyone present. "He gave his life not because he'd sworn an oath or been marked as special, but because he was a good man who wanted to protect the ones he loved."

The Warden who had spoken turned to Solona who looked devastated. "Solona, you're the senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do now?"

“You stay..." Philippa whispered. "You stay and fight to fix this mess. Solona believes that the Wardens are worth saving... and I trust her. Corypheus and the Venatori are still a threat to the remaining mages, but there are plenty of demons that need killing. I'm certain the Wardens can handle that much."

"After all that, you give them yet another chance?" Cassandra asked, her tone outraged and her eyes wide.

Philippa flinched, but did not back down. Solona stepped between them, still holding her side and limping slightly. "While they do that, I'll report to the Wardens at Weisshaupt. We won't be caught off guard by Corypheus again."

Philippa nodded her agreement and the Warden who had spoken on behalf of them all said again, “Thank you, your worship. We will not fail you.”

Solona stepped up onto the dais as the crowd began to disperse. Philippa smiled through her tears at her old friend and gently took her hand from her side. Touching a hand to the injured ribs, she sent a wash of healing magic over her. As the cracked bones mended, Solona took Philippa's hands away from her and drew her into a hug. Philippa nearly collapsed in the much shorter woman's arms, sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Phil."

"That damned idiot," Philippa whimpered. "How... how am I supposed to tell Anders?"

Solona hugged her tighter. "I would set an anti bomb spell around Skyhold before you do." Hysterical laughter barked from Philippa's throat and she felt her knees go weak. "Whoa..." Solona braced herself, but another set of arms swooped in to take the burden from her.

Philippa buried herself against the familiar embrace as Dorian's voice hummed against her. His scent of wood smoke and parchment enveloped her in spite of the scent of the Fade that still clung to them all. It was warm and comforting as he held her and dismissed Solona with a kind word.

Once everything was settled and clean up began for the Wardens, Philippa trudged in exhaustion back out to the makeshift camp that had been set up near the main entrance. She had yet to see any of the others, but had been assured that they were alive by several of their scouts and soldiers. She wandered through the camp, helping where she could, healing minor wounds and lighting fires. Anything to take her mind off of Garrett.

She was kneeling beside a Warden who had taken an arrow to her shoulder. The healer broke off the end and pushed the arrow through the skin to remove it. The woman clutched Philippa's hand tightly while biting down on a strip of leather. Once the shaft was out, Philippa gently placed her free hand over the wound and the positive energy that came from her healing magic burst from her chest, her hands creating a blue healing aura that knitted the wound closed. The healer thanked her for her help and as Philippa stumbled slightly as she stood, she found herself in yet another familiar embrace. She sagged against him. “Whoa there,” he soothed, letting her lean on him. “I think you've done enough for one day.” She lifted her chin to meet his gaze, so similar to their brother's and her eyes burned as the tears began to flow, slowly. He smiled knowingly, his own eyes wracked with sympathy and grief. His hand reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek before she hugged him tight, her face burying itself in his chest.

"I have to do something, Carver... I can't... I can't believe he's gone..." she sobbed.

"It's late, Phil. You should get some rest..." he urged.

She pulled back, her tears burning her eyes as she glared at him. "What would you do if it were Beth?"

Carver smiled bitterly. "That's where I lucked out. Beth was always the smarter twin."

Philippa dropped her gaze again and sighed. "Do you... Could you sit with me? I... I want to try something, but I probably shouldn't do it alone."

"What did you have in mind?" Carver asked suspiciously.

She bit her lip. "When I closed that rift and banished that demon, it should have sent it half way across the Fade. It was only seconds after Garrett shoved me and Sol toward the rift. I need to know if he's truly gone, or if he's trapped on the other side of the rift..."

"If this is a rescue mission, you can count me in..." Varric stood a few feet away, his crossbow in his grip. His eyes were ringed in red, and his shoulders were slumped.

"Varric, I'm..." she began.

He cut her off, one hand raised and his eyes closed as he flinched. "Don't... I wanted to blame you, or Griffon, or anyone, but I know Hawke. He would do anything for his family, and it so happens that as an unofficial member, I'd like to return the favor."

She turned her gaze back to Carver, hopeful. He rolled his eyes and released her from his hug. "If you're going into the Fade, you're not doing it alone..."

"We need to get back to the courtyard... I'll go to sleep and take a look around, scout the area. If I find him, I'll reopen the rift and we can get him out," she explained as she started back toward the fortress.

They made their way through the eerily quiet fortress. Most of the Wardens had abandoned the place after the demons had been banished. No one seemed to be able to shake the feeling of unease that hovered over the stone structure. Varric had yet to fold away Bianca, and Carver's hand hovered close to the hilt of his massive two-handed sword. "Does anyone else feel like we should have brought an army?" Varric asked as they stepped into the shattered remains of the courtyard, his voice traveling around the area and echoing back at them.

Philippa approached the dais, dirt and rubble crunching beneath her boots. She knelt just shy of where the rift had opened and reached out with her magic. She could feel the thinness of the Veil all around her, but there didn't seem to be any demons interested in her at the moment. As soon as she started to poke around, however, she had a feeling that would change. She turned to Varric and Carver and warned them. "If I find Garrett alive, when I open the rift, we're going to attract demons. There's no way around that..."

"That's why we're here," Carver assured her, finally drawing his sword and spreading his legs to take a ready stance.

Philippa nodded and brushed aside a space to lie down. Getting as comfortable as she could on the hard stone, she reached out and drew the Fade around her, stepping through to the other side of the Veil. The Fade looked different than it had when she had been in there physically, the reflection not as crisp, and shadows of the fortress a little less solid. She recognized the space they had fought the Nightmare's avatar, and the turned to head towards where Garrett had charged. Her heart was racing with hope, because there was a flicker of familiarity nearby. It was the same flicker she would have reached for if she were looking to find Bethany in her dreams. The massive hunk of red lyrium that she had seen the Nightmare as had also disappeared from the landscape. The flicker, and the disappearance of the demon was enough for her to take a chance.

She stepped from the Fade and woke. "I can't find him in the dream world. I need to go in and look, but I think he's alive."

She scrambled to her feet and backed from the dais. Directing the flow of the Anchor to open a rift came easily with the damage already done to the Veil surrounding them. With a resounding pop of sound, the rift opened and the sound of rushing water fell over the silent courtyard. "What in Andraste's name are you doing?" Cullen's voice sounded over the din, and she spun to give him an unapologetic look before she stepped through the rift and into the Fade.

She was in there only a few seconds before Varric stepped through behind her. "Now you've done it, Charmer. Curly is pissed."

She squared her shoulders. "He won't follow us in here," she said confidently. "Let's go."

She could no longer feel Garrett like she could in the dream Fade, so she needed to rely on her eyes. She headed for the last place she had seen him and started to search. "What makes you think Hawke wasn't banished with the demons?" Varric asked, his voice stuttering as the thought occurred to him.

She shook her head. "Without decades of research, I really can't answer that question. I just know that when I reached for him, I could still feel him, and he was nearby." She and Varric walked side by side, Philippa feeling the urgency of the situation as every demon within a fifty mile radius realized what she was and that she was in their territory. Her head started to throb again. "We need to hurry."

Finally after what felt like an eternity, Philippa saw something shimmering in the distance. She took off at a run and shouted for Varric to follow. Her heart stuttered and fell into her gut as she came up on Garrett and saw the state he was in. His left leg was clearly smashed, twisted at an odd angle. There was a slash across his chest that sheared clear through the armor there. The gauntlet on his right arm had also been cut free, dangling from a single strap. His daggers were on the ground beside him, and he had dozens of other superficial cuts and bruises. "Shit," Varric cursed as he caught up to her.

Philippa dropped to her knees. "I can't patch him up until we get out of here, and we don't have much time."

A third set of footfalls rushed up behind her and she spun. "Maker's breath," Carver grunted. "Can you fix him. Phil?"

She shook her head. "Not here. We're already being hunted."

Varric moved to pick up Garrett's daggers. "Where's Curly?" Varric asked.

"Guarding the rift," Carver answered, sheathing his sword. "Phil, help me lift him. We can drag him out if we have to, but we need to go. Varric, cover our backs."

Varric cocked Bianca and made certain she was fully loaded as Carver dropped to a knee beside Philippa. They slid their hands under Garrett's shoulders and as they shifted him, he groaned. Philippa glanced at Carver and cringed. "I need to make sure he stays asleep." She touched a hand to his forehead, which was cold to the touch, and laid a sleep spell on him. He was slipping fast, his skin pale. They managed to sit his limp body up and they both wrapped his arms around their shoulders. On the count of three, they stood, hefting him up with them. Both of his legs dragged on the ground as they lugged his dead-weight over the uneven terrain of the Fade. It felt like it was taking them forever to traverse the distance between them and the rift. Philippa's heart was racing as Garrett's pulse fluttered unevenly under her fingers that held his wrist.

She started to hear the murmuring of demons nearby and then Bianca's click-clack as Varric took shots at the approaching horde. "Get a move on!" he shouted nervously.

Carver quickened his pace and Philippa lurched after, her legs already weak from the long day of fighting and healing. She drew in her strength and muscled ahead, the rift within sight. Finally, they spilled out of the rift, Varric on their heels. Philippa collapsed, Garrett nearly on top of her as Carver stumbled under the sudden weight. She scuttled on her ass away from the tangle of limbs and threw her hand up to pull the rift closed before they had company to fight off.

As soon as the rift snapped shut, she gasped and shuffled to her knees to crawl back to where Carver had laid Garrett's still form. "What in the Maker's name were you think..." She spun to set a glare on Cullen as he dared approach her with an angered scowl.

Tears burned her eyes as she prayed she would have the strength to help Garrett. "You will stay out of my way and let me heal him, or so help me, Cullen Rutherford, you will meet the side of me which is most base!" she growled, her hands flat on Garrett's chest.

Cullen took a step back, his eyes wide. When he made no protest, she returned her attention to her twin. First she hunted for his pulse. It was weak and thready, but it was still beating. She fiddled with the endless straps on his leather armor and grunted in frustration. Suddenly, another pair of hands was helping her to swiftly remove the armor that was in her way. She glanced up at Cullen as he calmly and quietly lent her his assistance. "I can't believe you just threatened me," he said with a small smile as she lifted Garrett's tunic to get a better look at the long bloody gash across his chest.

Philippa allowed herself to smile as well, relieved that she had been able to find Garrett and was well on her way to making him whole again. Instead of answering Cullen, she cleared her throat and looked up at Varric. "Would you please fetch Dorian? I might need a hand with his leg..."

She cringed as she looked down at Garrett's leg. Bones protruded from his skin in more than a few places. She forced herself to look away and focus on the more major injuries. On closer inspection, the gash on his chest was shallow. Most of the blood loss had come from his leg and a slash across his throat that came dangerously close to nicking his artery. She closed the neck wound first, knitting muscle and veins back together before moving on to the wound on his arm that had removed his gauntlet. She could see clear to the bone and she set to work, easing the magic into the deepest section and working her way to the surface.

She left many of the other cuts and bruises until after they had dealt with his leg. Before Varric returned with Dorian, Carver lent her a blade so she could cut away any remaining bits of fabric. She noticed her hands were shaking as she gingerly removed his boot and worked to reset his leg to make the healing easier. Cullen knelt on Garrett's opposite side the entire time, offering her his hands whenever she asked. Finally when Dorian approached, he knelt by her side. He made no comment on Garrett's state, but he hummed. "What can I do?"

"I'm... really low on mana, and a single lyrium potion is not going to fix this. I know you're not a powerful healer, but if I could borrow a bit of mana, I can do it myself," she asked softly.

Dorian, without question, lifted his hand and rested it on the back of her neck. "Take what you need."

Philippa drew on her own mana, first reaching out to the Fade to plead for help. This was too large a job for regular creation magic. She needed the help of a spirit. She called out, receiving no answer in return. She whimpered and tried again. When she still got nothing, Cole appeared at her side. "The others are afraid of Adamant. I've been here before and I want to help. Teach me?"

Philippa nodded, taking her lip between her teeth. She closed her eyes and visualized what she needed. Cole dipped into her thoughts, and then he touched a hand to Garrett's leg beside hers. She felt the spirit healing spell taking hold, leeching a great deal of mana from her, as Cole was not experienced at healing. Shards of bone shifted and reformed, with a cringe-worthy sound as some of them scraped together to make room in the tight confines where they belonged. Philippa gritted her teeth and once every piece was back in place, she weaved the secondary spell to knit the bones and joints back together. Her shoulders began to slump, but then Dorian leveled her out, pushing the lion's share of his mana into her core. She felt Cole pulling away, his part done. Lastly, she ran her hands along his entire leg, closing up the holes in his flesh and mending a microscopic nick in his artery that one of the bone shards had caused on it's way out. They had been extremely lucky when they moved him that it had not exacerbated the wound or he could have bled out.

Finally, the worst of it was healed, but it would be some time before she was comfortable waking Garrett. She would need days of repeated healing to perfectly mend everything wrong. She touched her hand to his cheek and with the remainder of the mana that Dorian had given her, she checked for any internal complications. There were a few worrying bruises that she would need to check out when she had rested. Satisfied he was not going to die through the night, she pulled her hands away and stood to ask Carver to find someone to take him down to the camp and get him in a bed. Before she got the words out of her mouth, the world spun around her and she felt the ground hurtling quickly toward her. Before she met the stone, she fell against another person. Her eyes fluttered closed and she fought to pry them back open as he spoke, "Whoa, now. I've got you." He paused and she felt herself being shifted. "Carver, Varric, see to it that the Champion is taken care of. Dorian, do you know where the Inquisitor's tent is?"

"If you'll follow me, Commander..." Dorian's voice began to fade as he turned and began to leave.

Cullen grunted and she felt him shift against her. "Up we go," he said and within seconds, she was cradled against his chest, her legs bent at the knees where he had hooked his arm. His other arm was wrapped protectively around her upper body.

Her head slumped, falling against the cold metal of his cuirass. It felt good against her skin and she hummed contentedly, ready to fall asleep right there. Cullen's smooth gait was rhythmically calming, and her exhaustion got the better of her. The next thing she knew, there was a light bump, and then her rear hit something soft. His left arm began to snake out from under her knees and he gently slid his hand up her arm and around to her back and neck to keep her head from falling backwards as he set her down. She groaned in protest, sense completely gone, her hand lifting to try and grab hold of him so he wouldn't leave.

A small chuckle sounded beside her, and his voice was gentle when he spoke. "Andraste preserve me, Hawke stop flailing." No sooner had the words left his mouth than the back of her hand connected with something. "Ow," he grunted, and one of his hands wrapped around her grasping fingers. She calmed with his touch, and she couldn't tell in her loopy state whether what she felt was real. The hand not holding hers brushed along her bangs, shifting them out of her face. The thumb that was holding her hand rubbed slowly over her knuckles. "You are the most maddening creature I have ever met..." he sighed heavily as she slowly slipped back into the oblivion of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA! I had you going! As if a Somniari couldn't manipulate the Fade and get her twin back.


	35. A Long Time Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Adamant, Philippa returns to Skyhold with time to kill before she needs to visit Halamshiral. What she discovers in her free time may change her life and her feelings.

It was nearly a week, as they traveled, before Philippa felt comfortable lifting the low level coma she had kept Garrett in since dragging him from the Fade. She had gone in each day and repaired more of the damage done to his insides, allowing the healing magic to work mostly hands free. Solona parted from the army halfway across Orlais to head north to Weisshaupt alone. Philippa's small group pushed ahead of the army and arrived a week sooner at Skyhold.

Almost as soon as they rode through the barrier, Leliana greeted her with a warm smile and asked for a personal debrief. She led Philippa up to her rookery and out onto a balcony. “Sol sent me one final report,” Leliana said as she leaned on the rail and overlooked Skyhold. The only towers taller than the rookery were Philippa's own quarters and the main tower behind the hall that Philippa had yet to find a use for. It was nearing dusk and it was the Nightingale's time to shine. Leliana looked absolutely stunning under the pale sky. “She is on her way to Weisshaupt. As for the Grey Wardens, they are fighting demons and red templars while staying clear of Venatori. You dealt Corypheus a significant blow, Inquisitor.”

“The Grey Wardens are respected just about everywhere. We should make it known that they are on the Inquisition's side,” Philippa suggested, her inner politician taking hold of her tongue.

“We may gain standing with nations that have suffered under the Blight. I will take the matter to Josephine,” Leliana agreed with an impressed smile. “You took an army from Corypheus, but that will matter little if Orlais falls into chaos. All arrangements have been made for the ball in Halamshiral. Let us know when you are ready to proceed.” Philippa nodded and turned to find herself a warm bath. Before she passed through the door, Leliana's voice caressed over her skin again like a sad song. “What was she like?” Philippa paused and faced her again. “Divine Justinia, or her soul, or the spirit that took her form. I read your report. I know it isn't clear, but...”

Philippa smiled and offered her the truth. “She refused to say anything outright. I could have used more direct answers and fewer journeys of self discovery.”

The smile in Leliana's voice was obvious even without seeing her face. “She made a lot of people feel that way.”

“She did ask me to tell you something, though,” Philippa said, the spirit's last words jumping back at the mention of her. “She said, 'I'm sorry. I failed you, too'.”

The 'oh' was barely a whisper as the spymaster pushed up from the railing to stand taller. “I should finish this before it slips my mind. Perhaps later, we might discuss the matter further.” The smile had disappeared and was replaced with grief. “Thank you.”

With time to think, Philippa's mind turned to what she thought she might have heard when Cullen had deposited her in her tent at Adamant. She had been mildly delirious after exerting so much energy into bringing Garrett from the brink of death. She couldn't be certain he had even said anything. It may have just been a stray spirit picking up on her feelings and using them to try and worm their way into her head in her vulnerable state. She was barely able to concentrate on her paperwork as the midday sun slipped quietly into her quarters, splashing the room in multiple colors through the stained glass windows.

Philippa replayed the memory over and over again, trying to be subjective even as her heart thumped in excitement. The thought that Cullen might actually be interested in her both filled her with warmth and flipped her stomach with nerves. They had known each other for ages, and they had maintained a professional relationship. But something felt different, now. Was it all in her head? He was so frustratingly polite whenever anything remotely touched on flirtation. And then there was her blossoming relationship with Dorian to consider. She didn't want to give herself the hope that Cullen _might_ have feelings for her and leave Dorian high and dry. The entire situation was a mess.

After she took a short break for lunch, she tried to force herself to go about her day. She started again with the paperwork still left on her desk, signing reports and consenting to missions that needed handled. She had her eyes buried in the heels of her hands by mid afternoon, rubbing the exhaustion from them. When she dropped her arms heavily on the desk and sighed, she was not surprised to see the mug of tea that had been left for her. Cole certainly had impeccable timing.

That evening in the tavern, when her meal was almost finished, Sera came scrambling down the stairs and flopped into a chair across from her. She smiled at the elf who returned the expression with a scowl. "You have a problem." Without allowing Philippa to ask the question, Sera continued, gesturing around them. "That, over there, is a full tavern, but everyone's drinking alone." Philippa glanced around and realized that Sera was right. There was muted conversation but nothing nearly resembling the usual chatter and bustle of a busy tavern like she was used to from Haven. "They're all up their own arses about the Inquisition. _I_ can't have fun with everybody whinging. And they'll fall on their swords before Coryphetits can push them. I'm thinking pranks. Just you and me, messing around in people's stuff. You know, to start."

Philippa blinked, catching up with Sera's speed talk. Normally it was easy for her to keep up, but she was tired. "But I'm supposed to be the responsible one around here."

"Right, they'll never suspect you," Sera pointed out, her voice just excited enough to still be muted, but convey her anticipation. "You brought a dragon egg into Skyhold, remember? What, titles are only for getting away with bad stuff? Let's do something fun. Come on!"

Philippa grinned, conceding Sera's point and glad for the distraction. "Lead the way."

"What, really?" Sera's eyes lit up and she sat back in her chair as if Philippa's agreement had physically blown her away.

"Really," Philippa repeated, pushing her empty plate to the middle of the table and taking Sera's hand which Sera proceeded to use to drag her from her seat and up the stairs through the tavern, giggling.

"I knew you were different. Let's go!"

They made it all through Skyhold, setting little harmless traps for her advisors, nearly getting caught in the rookery. Sera and her dashed away and ran for the tavern to grab a celebratory drink, laughing all the way. "That was fun!" Sera gasped as she dropped onto a stool. "An Inquisitor of the people, still remembering you're one of them. If all they got was the Herald stuff, the serious bit, you'd start to sound pretty scary. That works, but not for long."

Philippa took the mug that Cabot slid to her and nodded with a snort. "Whatever it takes. I'd start throwing pies if it kept people inspired."

"Pies is so good! And Corypheshit would never do that," Sera giggled. "Good thing for you, innit? Because from the bottom, everyone up top sort of seems the same. Anyway, fun time, Philly." Sera said with a grin, leaning over to kiss Philippa's cheek sloppily.

She stood up to head back to her headache inducing room when the door of the tavern swung open with a bang, making Philippa jump and slosh her ale. "You!" Josie's voice echoed around the mostly empty tavern.

Sera's eyes widened. "Oh, frig!" Then she looked at Philippa and pointed. "You did it!" Then she ran off, giggling madly. Philippa was afraid to turn around. If she did, she just might lose it in Josie's face. She slowly cocked her head to catch a glimpse of the disapproving scowl and drooping ruffles of Josie's soaking wet clothes. The bucket had apparently tipped perfectly, soaking not only her person, but her head as well. Her dark hair was plastered to her face. Philippa turned back around and hunched over her drink, chuckling silently as Josie spun and stalked off to clean herself up.

Finishing off her ale, Philippa left the tavern, unable to bring herself to make any more of her rounds. There was plenty of time in the following weeks before the empress' ball. As she shuffled to her quarters through the main hall, she was stopped by Mother Giselle, who looked agitated. “My Lady Inquisitor. It is good of you to speak with me. I have news regarding one of your... companions. The Tevinter.”

“From your tone, I'd say you weren't fond of Dorian, Mother Giselle,” Philippa pointed out cautiously. Her stomach knotted with worry.

“I... admit his presence here makes me uncomfortable, Inquisitor, but my feelings are of no importance... I have been in contact with his family, House Pavus, out of Quarinus. Are you familiar with them?” Mother Giselle asked.

“Familiar? No, I can't say we've met... What are you suggesting?” Philippa wondered, her brow raised in suspicion.

“I'm suggesting nothing. I'm only curious whether you know of his... situation,” she was wringing her hands. “The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid. They've asked to arrange a meeting, quietly, without telling him. They fear it's the only way he'll come. Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I'd hoped...”

Philippa held up her palm. She was well aware of Dorian's distaste for his family due to a disagreement over his willingness to marry for politics. “If you think I'm going to trick Dorian into meeting his family...” They had become so close. She could never betray his trust like that.

Mother Giselle sighed deeply. “I feared you might say that... The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at the Redcliffe Tavern to take him onward. If he truly does not wish this reunion, he can always end the matter there. I pray you change your mind, Inquisitor. Perhaps their letter will persuade you.” Mother Giselle pressed the parchment into Philippa's hand and patted it gently. “If there is any chance of success in this, it behooves us to act.”

Mother Giselle took her leave and Philippa took the letter out to the garden to sit among the flowers to read it in the light of dusk.

_Your Reverence,_

_I understand that you feel inadequate to the task of bringing Dorian to a secret meeting. Even in the asking, I find it difficult to believe myself. Considering my son has rebuffed all contact, this is the only way. I know him... He would be too proud to come if he knew... even just to talk. That is all we wish to do. The thought of Dorian in the south, placing himself in the path of such danger, alarms us more than I can express._

_If this somehow succeeds, we have a family retainer at the Vandral Hills watching for Dorian's arrival. He will bring the boy to us, somewhere private. If Dorian utterly refuses to go with him, it ends there...and there is nothing we can do. We are at our wits end._

_Graciously yours,_

_Magister Halward of House Pavus_

Philippa sighed, dropping the letter to her lap. She had to tell Dorian. He was her friend. He deserved to make this choice himself. She made her way through the gardens to the main hall. It was lit by the braziers, but most of the workers had cleared out for the evening. She crossed the hall and headed for the library. Solas' work on the rotunda had come along nicely. The entire circumference had been painted from top to bottom in colorful murals depicting images of the Inquisition's deeds. Philippa could almost feel the emotion behind the art and she greeted Solas briefly as she passed through to head up to Dorian's favorite wingback chair in the library.

He sat in the chair, his legs crossed and his nose buried in a book as usual, a picture. When she cleared her throat, he looked up and grinned widely at her. “The Inquisitor's work is never done, I see,” he said, closing his book and setting his attention on her.

“Dorian, I have a letter here you might be interested in,” she said, pulling the letter from where she had tucked it.

“A letter?” He set the book aside and rose gracefully from the chair not uncrossing his ankles until he was standing. He strutted over to her. “Is it a naughty letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan Dowager?” he teased.

“Not quite,” she said, biting her lip. “It's from your father.”

“From my father?” His expression changed to one of extreme annoyance, bordering on mild distaste. “I see. And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?” He crossed his arms.

“A meeting,” she almost whispered.

“Show me this letter.” He plucked the paper from her fingers and she suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands. She rubbed them on her thighs awkwardly as his eyes skimmed over the letter, rage bubbling to the surface of his features. He snorted noisily. “ 'I know my son'? What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble.” He shook the paper at her. “This is so typical! I'm willing to bet this 'retainer' is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“You think your father would actually do that?” she asked timidly as she felt his magic warming the area they were standing in.

He took a deep breath and the temperature cooled. “No... although I wouldn't put it past him. Let's go. Let's meet this so-called 'family retainer'. If it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone. You're good at that.” She flinched. “If it's not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his 'wit's end'.”

“This might be a chance for you to put things right with your family. Maybe you should see what they want before you write them off,” Philippa suggested, her voice soft.

“I didn't ask what you thought, did I?” Dorian snapped. The question shot a dagger through her. He seemed to regret what he'd said almost as it was slipping from his mouth. His anger withdrew from his face and remorse replaced it as he approached a step closer to her while she hugged herself. “That... was unworthy. I apologize.” He sighed and looked back down at the letter. “There'd be no harm in hearing what this man of my father's has to say. If I don't like it, however, I want to leave.”

In spite of her suggestion, she knew Dorian well enough. “I'm fairly certain you're not going to like a word he says.”

“So am I, but who knows? Maybe my father has something new in mind...” he turned and flopped back down in his chair, crumbling the letter and tossing it to the floor beside him. He was draped casually, but she knew him well enough to know that he was anything but relaxed.

She wrung her hands. “Are you going to be alright?”

He graced her with a sincere smile, even if there was concern behind it. “Go ahead, sweetheart. I'll be fine. I'm certain you have better things to do than coddle me.” She could have corrected him, but he didn't seem in the mood for company, so she left him to his brooding.

With plenty of time before they needed to leave for Halamshiral, Philippa kept her word, going with Dorian to Redcliffe to meet with the retainer that his family had sent. When they stepped foot in the Gull and Lantern, it was deserted. “Uh oh, nobody's here,” Dorian said warily. “This doesn't bode well.”

Philippa heard a deep voice that drew both of their eyes toward the stairs that led up to the inn above. “Dorian.” A middle aged man stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hands wringing nervously. His skin was darker than Dorian's but their eyes...

“Father,” Dorian sighed softly as if he had expected this. “So the whole story about the 'family retainer' was just... what? A smoke screen?”

“Then you were told.” The man approached and his eyes fell on Philippa. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

“Of course not,” Dorian said sarcastically. “Magister Pavus couldn't come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?” He paused to wrinkle his nose. “What is 'this' exactly, father? Ambush? Kidnapping? _Warm_ family reunion?” The venom in Dorian's tone made her flinch.

The elder Pavus simply sighed and shook his head. “This is how it has always been.”

Philippa spoke up, loathe to draw attention to herself. “This is none of my business. I should...”

Dorian rounded on her. “Oh no you don't! I want a witness. I want someone to hear the truth.”

“Dorian, there's no need to...” his father began.

Before he could finish, Dorian pitched his voice louder and said, “I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.”

Philippa swallowed the gasp that tried to lurch from her throat. She felt mildly foolish now that she thought back on all of their interactions. She had been so preoccupied with trying to rid herself of her obsession with Cullen that she had never stopped to think that everything Dorian had said to her had just been him flirting for flirting's sake. “So that's what all of this is about?” Philippa asked in disbelief, competently masking her surprise and embarrassment. “Who you sleep with?”

“That's not _all_ it's about,” Dorian said with a soft growl.

“Dorian, please. If you'll only listen to me.”

“Why?” Dorian asked, his anger seeping into the air in warm waves. “So you can spout more convenient lies?” Dorian began speaking to Philippa, his accusing eyes still on his father. “ _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. 'The resort of the weak mind'. Those are _his_ words.” He paced back and forth. “But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to _change_ me!” Dorian's voice choked briefly.

His anger was flipping back and forth with fear and sorrow mixing in. “I only wanted what was best for you!” his father insisted.

“You wanted the best for _you_! For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!” Dorian, after shouting in the man's face, backed off and leaned heavily on the bar, his shoulders stiff.

Philippa moved to his side, her hand falling on his forearm. “If you don't let him finish, you'll never know if he's sorry,” she whispered sympathetically. “You'll never forgive yourself.”

With a pained expression he glanced at her and patted her hand lightly with a nod before moving back to glare at his father again. “Tell me why you came.”

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition...” his father began.

“ _You_ didn't. I joined the Inquisition because it's the right thing to do. Once, I had a father who would have known that...” Dorian said with disappointment. He turned and glanced at Philippa, his eyes asking her to follow.

They were halfway to the door when his father spoke again. “Once, I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him... To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me...”

Dorian, who had turned to look at the man again, glanced at Philippa who with a nod of her head told him to go and talk to his father. He smiled hopefully and went to his father. Philippa respectfully left them alone.

Dorian left the Tavern and aside from a few words saying they should go, he was silent as the grave. They rode all day in utter silence. When they set up camp in the evening, Philippa was convinced that he was never going to speak again. They were sitting around the fire, both staring into it when he finally sighed. “He says we're alike. Too much pride... Once, I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now, I'm not certain. I don't know if I can forgive him.”

“What did you mean when you said he tried to change you?” she asked softly, curious about how he had planned to do that.

“Out of desperation. I wouldn't put on a show, marry the girl. Keep everything unsavory private and locked away. Selfish, I suppose, not wanting to spend my entire life screaming on the inside.” Philippa stood and moved to sit beside him, lending her presence as he continued. “He was going to do a blood ritual. Alter my mind. Make me... acceptable. I found out. I left.”

Philippa laid her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. “Are you all right?”

He pulled her closer with his arm. “No, not really. Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn't what I expected but, it's something.” He chuckled softly. “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

“I'm still a little confused on where _we_ stand,” she said softly, her bruised ego getting the better of her.

He flinched, his arm loosening. "Ah, the flirting." He paused momentarily. "You're a remarkable woman, Phil. I mean that in the best way. In another life..." He sighed. "I meant no offense. I'll desist, if you prefer..."

She drew her head back to look at him, his expression pained and she could almost hear him cursing himself for all of the teasing words he had ever said to her. She felt terrible for even bringing it up. "Desist? Don't you dare."

There was a hint of a smile on his lips and she snuggled her head into him again. He laughed in relief. “I stand so instructed." His laughter was forced but genuine. He shifted and pulled a flask from inside his robes. “At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It's been that sort of day.”

Back at Skyhold, something felt off. She could sense agitation, but couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from until she was leaving the tavern after lunch. Someone was shouting and she paused with a frown, hearing Solas' voice carrying an annoyed, "No," across the nearly empty courtyard.

She looked around toward the winding stairs above that led into the main hall and Solas was coming down with Cole on his heels.“But you like demons!”

Solas reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to face Cole. Philippa had never seen the elf quite so agitated. She wandered over to see what the fuss was. “I enjoy the company of spirits, yes, which is part of why I do not abuse them with bindings.”

Solas again turned and tried to walk away from Cole. The boy followed close behind. “It isn't abuse if I ask!”

“Not always true,” Solas sighed, stopping and turning again. “Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic.”

Cole noticed her hovering and he jerked away from Solas to approach her, pointing behind him like a child tattling on the playground. “He won't bind me. He's a mage, and he likes demons, but he won't _help_.”

Philippa backed up a step and frowned. “We just saw the Grey Wardens try to raise an army of demons... You want Solas to _bind_ you?”

“He has to!” Cole insisted flitting back to Solas. “If Solas won't do the ritual to bind me, someone else could. Will! Like the Warden mages! And then...” he paused, his fingers fiddling with the frayed hem of his sleeve. “I'm not me anymore. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster.”

Philippa sighed. “A blood mage can control the mind of anyone. They don't need to be a spirit. Anyone here could become a thrall under the proper circumstances.”

“You should ask Solas to bind you, too! And then someone can bind him...” Cole sputtered.

“There has to be some middle ground between 'do nothing' and 'bind Cole with blood magic',” Philippa said sympathetically, looking to Solas.

The elf tipped his head. “Indeed. I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages. A spirit wearing an amulet of the unbound was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect Cole as well. The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a Talisman.”

“Good.” Cole stalked away toward the tavern. “They will not take me.”

Solas sighed and shook his head. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

She nodded. “I'll get Leliana to look into finding one of those amulets.”

After finding Leliana and setting her to work on finding an amulet for Cole, Philippa felt some of the tension surrounding Skyhold slowly seeping away. Settling back into her usual rounds, she decided to head to Cullen's tower and check in on him. After learning the truth about Dorian, her feelings for Cullen had gained new focus, and she had gone back to harping on what she thought she had heard at Adamant. Her walk to his tower had her feeling like her legs were made of lead as she dragged herself along. When she knocked on his door, his voice invited her in and she was greeted with his glorious smile. “Hawke, you've developed an uncanny ability to knock.” She suddenly had no witty retort as her mouth dried up at the prospect of speaking her feelings out loud. She ran fingers through her hair, and as he noted her odd behavior, he frowned slightly and tipped his head toward the door. “I'm actually glad you're here. I thought we could talk... alone...”

She bit her lip.“Alone?” she asked, mild shock in her voice at his request. What could he need to say that they needed to be alone for? Was he resigning? Was the withdrawal flaring up again? Her mind raced with possibilities that she quickly quashed before nodding and adjusting her vest. “I... I mean, of course.”

He led her out the door and they walked in awkward silence over the battlements toward where she had met with Garrett when he first arrived. Every few steps, he would reach up and rub the back of his neck. Finally, he mumbled something and she had been so wrapped up in thinking about what she was going to say to him that she missed it. "What?” she blurted, stopping and her hands starting to twist around each other.

He attempted to repeat his comment but then changed his mind. With a sigh, he said, “There is something we need to discuss...”

She steeled herself, the entire speech worked out in her head if he said he was leaving the Inquisition. “You're being ominous, Cullen. The last time you acted so squirrely you told me you were off lyrium. What is it?” she caught herself chuckling nervously and her cheeks flushed. She averted her gaze from his and sighed deeply. She was ridiculously unpracticed with this sort of thing and he was making her anxious. Maker's breath had she just used his actual name? She was certain she had just bungled any chance she had at making this less awkward.

“I promise, it's nothing ominous... or at least _I_ don't think it is..." His voice was gentle and it drew her eyes back to him. She realized he had stepped closer to her. Her breath nearly hitched in her throat as her heart began to race. She swallowed it back down and forced herself to meet his gaze. Was he smiling? What did he want to say to her? She blinked, trying to focus on something other than his lips as he continued. "There is something I need to admit to you, as well as myself, before it actually drives me mad. The last thing this Inquisition needs is for it's Commander to lose his wits because he can't admit the truth. Their Inquisitor is already barking mad."

She pursed her lips, crossing her arms in indignation. Her voice was shaky as she retorted. Why was he being so coy? She attempted to make a joke that tumbled from her mouth and fell between them, making his mouth fall open slightly. "Finally admitting you're head over heels for me, Commander?" Why was this so hard? She had been in relationships before. Anders and Finn... but she had more or less fallen into those affairs. She had never had to work this hard before. Cullen had so many walls built up around him that she thought it impossible to break through them. With his flabbergasted expression, she realized what she had said, and regretted it. “Shit... I... I shouldn't have... If you knew... Andraste's ass... I'm sorry.” She wished she were Cole at that moment. Cullen could forget this entire conversation and she could flee. "Just forget I said anything. You don't think of me like that. How could you? I'm a mage..." she groaned and buried her face in her palms, covering her mouth so she couldn't dig herself any deeper. "I need sleep..."

He fumbled with his own words as she fidgeted, inching away in an escape attempt. “I could. I.. I mean, I do... think of you.” _Just let me down easy,_ she pleaded inwardly. He sighed and moved away from her to again nervously rub his neck. She considered bolting. “And what I might say in this sort of situation. Leave it to you to guess exactly what I was thinking and make light of it...”

 _Wait, what_? “What did you say?” she asked, trying to understand as she forced herself to follow him to where he now stood and leaned her rear against the ledge, anchoring herself to the spot with determination and studying him.

He flicked his gaze to her, noticing that she had not fled nor had she done anything to widen the space between them. She was cautiously narrowing it, instead. “I'm fairly certain you're not deaf, Hawke.” He had moved slowly towards her as he spoke, his amber eyes less than a foot from her.

“So I definitely heard what you said, and yet, I'm still here,” she gasped, unable to catch her breath. She reached up to covertly pinch the meat of her arm, afraid she might have fallen asleep on her paperwork.

She gasped when his image didn't waver and she didn't bolt up at her desk with drool soaked papers attached to her cheek. “So you are...” He stepped right up before her, his hands snaking around her to rest on the stone of the ledge at her hips. “It seems too much to ask... But I want to...”

He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his body, the scent she had become so accustomed to filling her lungs. His lips barely brushed against hers before being ripped away as the door beside them clattered open. His head leaned forward as he heard his title spoken. “Commander.” He pushed quickly away and turned on the scout that was approaching with his nose buried in the papers he was sifting through. “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report.”

Philippa turned her face away, her cheeks burning at having been caught in such a compromising situation. “What?” Cullen snapped, his warmth leaving her as he bore down on the man.

“Sister Leliana's report...” the scout said slowly. “You wanted it delivered 'without delay'?” Philippa spared a glance at them as a moment of heated silence fell over the battlements. The scout was looking nervously from Cullen to her and then he slowly began to back away. “Or... to your office... right...”

The door slammed closed and they both shared a sigh. She glanced at him as he looked back at her. “I know the Commander is a busy man. Maybe you should...” Her disappointed suggestion was silenced by his lips on hers. His hands on her cheeks, pulled her urgently to him.

She fell into him, her surprised gasp turning to a moan of pleasure as her hands reached out to grip his arms just above the elbow. He tasted like the morning dew as his tongue slipped in to mingle with hers. It was over too quickly and she whimpered as he pulled away. “I'm sorry...” he sighed, his breath warming her cheek as his hands slid down, lightly caressing her skin. “That was... um... really nice.” His body was still pressed against hers, effectively trapping her between him and the ledge.

She grinned softly, her own hand reaching up to adoringly touch his cheek as her heart thumped wildly. In spite of the pinch, she could still hardly believe what was happening. Teasingly, she said, “I'm not very practiced at this sort of thing, but if I'm not mistaken, that was a kiss... It all happened so fast...”

His throaty chuckle tugged at her, deep down. “Maker's breath, Shut up, Hawke...” Again, his lips were on hers, this time much more gently. His urgent hands moved down to her hips where they rested lightly. For her, this had been so long in coming, that she wished it would never end. She wondered if he felt the same as she took his upper lip between hers and explored his scar as she had fantasized about so many times as she watched the right half of his mouth lift in that cocky smirk.

They were so wrapped up in each other that the bell signaling evening guard rotation was the first thing she heard. “It's so late,” she sighed, giggling as he leaned his forehead against hers. His smile intact.

He joined her in sighing. “I really need to get back. If my paperwork gets any deeper, I fear a swift gust might bury me alive.”

She chuckled. “We can't have that.” She touched his chest, her nails clicking on the metal of his Cuirass. “I've actually got a ton of things to do myself.”

“We'll talk later,” he promised, giving her one last peck on her lips before leaving her more than a bit flustered.

She gathered herself and straightened her clothing before taking a deep breath and heading off to her duties. She decided to make the rounds to speak with some of her people, really not in any place to be reading over paperwork alone in her quarters.

Before stopping in with anyone, she decided a meal was in order. She followed the battlements to the tavern and entered from the upper level, the noise of the tavern below muted. As she walked toward the staircase to head downstairs, she spotted Cole, leaning quietly on the rail, huddled in the shadows. She graced him with a wave and his smile beamed at her. Before she could head down the stairs, he spoke. “Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.” She didn't have a chance to answer as he disappeared. Her heart fluttered and her own smile was hard to contain.

Philippa had a ton of paperwork to do, but her heart was so light that she felt like being cooped up in her room was a waste of the beautiful evening. She gathered a handful of papers and something to weigh them down and headed down to work in the garden until the sun went down. Shadows were already hovering in the gazebo and she cast a small wisp to light her work up and set to reading and assigning. When she looked up from her work after an hour, she noticed that Cullen had arrived and was leaning casually against the side of the gazebo, his arms and legs crossed, and a crooked grin pulling his lip upward. He was dressed casually, like she normally saw him in the middle of the night, without his heavy armor and cloak.

She returned his excited grin and stood to sway toward him, setting her paperweight on the pile of nearly completed work. "You know, it's impolite to stare."

He hummed as she took light hold of his hand, unfolding his arms and pulling him with her as she backed behind the gazebo. "I apologize, I'm still getting used to the fact that I might not actually be dreaming." He leaned in as soon as they were out of sight, his lips pressing against hers.

She reached up, slipping her fingers through the gentle waves of his hair, knocking loose the single strand that always rebelled by hanging over his forehead. When she pulled away from the warm greeting, she smirked. "Have you been dreaming of me, Commander? Do I keep you up at night?" She leaned in, whispering the last in his ear before lightly kissing his neck, just below his ear.

His arms tightened around her. "Maker's breath, the things you say..." He chuckled lightly, melting against her as she trailed her lips along the stubble of his jaw and back to his mouth.

When they parted again, she heard voices around the other side of the gazebo and flushed. If they left the cover of the vine laden structure, they would be seen. “So, the Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste,” she said with a grin, turning her eyes on him and enjoying the way the sunset reflected off his golden hair. “That will have people talking.”

He returned her attention and let out a soft sigh, his eyes rolling. “You wouldn't believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.”

“Does it bother you?” she asked, gauging just how important it was to him to keep their relationship hidden.

“I would rather my... our... private affairs remain that way,” he added a contented smile to his next words. “But if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more.”

She smirked. “When you kissed me earlier, it seemed like you had been holding that in for a while...”

His laugh was light and the voices paused, telling her that someone had heard in spite of them speaking as privately as they could. “Longer than I should admit.”

“I know how you feel about mages, and how you've felt about _me_ in the past... I'm surprised you even...” She looked away, still uncertain why after all of this time he had ever decided to admit his feelings.

He frowned. “I hadn't considered... I've worked really hard to find myself again amidst everything. Even now, I find myself every now and then thinking I'm completely mad for feeling the way I do. I hope that doesn't... I mean, _does_ it... bother you?”

She snorted, dipping her head to lean her forehead on his chest. “No. If you care for me, that's all that matters. I wasn't trying to put you on the spot.”

He grinned and tipped her chin upwards. “I'm not very good at this, am I? If I seem unsure, it's because it's been a long time since I've wanted _anyone_ in my life. I wasn't expecting to find that here, especially with you...”

She found herself gazing at her marked hand as it cast a dim light on his chest where both her hands now rested. “You sort of came as a surprise as well. All of this did. But you are a very pleasant surprise amidst the rest of the madness.”

He sighed, his thumb grazing her cheek. It was strange to have someone touch her so intimately. It had been so long. Her heart fluttered as she gazed into his eyes. "I wish you didn't have to bear this burden... When I watched you step through that rift in Adamant..." He released another heavy sigh. "I had been looking for you to offer a word of sympathy, and that spirit of yours told me what you were doing... I'm fairly certain my heart stopped." He chuckled, brushing her bangs aside with a smile. "It was then I realized that you had cast your spell on me... and I was okay with that."

She giggled, leaning her face into his hand. "I don't think _I'm_ the smooth talker here, Commander."

He laughed as well. "And here I thought it sounded cheesy."

She brushed his stray hair back into place and nodded with a grin. "It was definitely cheesy, but I never said I _didn't_ like cheesy."

"Lucky for me, then," he said rolling his eyes and then leaning down to claim her lips again. She could taste his smile, feel it in the press of his lips. When he pulled away he chuckled, saying, "Maker, I came to find you for a reason."

"What is it?" she asked, moving back and giving him space to think.

"We've received word from the army, they'll be returning in two days. I thought you might wish to make accommodations for your brother," he explained.

She nodded. "I actually wanted to let Finn have a look at him before I'm comfortable sending him home. He sustained a lot of injuries, and I may be a spirit healer, but I'm not used to working with a spirit as inexperienced as Cole. I need a second set of eyes that I can trust." At mention of Finn, Cullen's expression shifted. "What is it?" she asked, noting the subtle change.

His hand lifted to rub the back of his neck. "He came all of the way to Skyhold for you... and I know you were 'involved' back in Ferelden..."

She crossed her arms and smirked. "Commander," she accused playfully. "Are you jealous?"

He rolled his eyes. "Can you blame me?"

She smiled. "I promise you that we are no more than friends. We may have shared something years ago, but we're both very different people now."

He sighed. "Forgive me. If you can't tell, I am very new to this side of things."

"Well, the good new is, it's me. You know I won't mince words or lie to make you feel better," she shrugged. She stepped closer and kissed him again. "How about this? I'm going to go and have a word with Finn about Garrett. When I'm finished we can meet back here and talk over a game?"

"I'd like that," he smiled as well.


	36. Insecurities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their relationship still fresh, Philippa and Cullen need to work through a few personal issues and insecurities that still threaten to pull them apart.

Making her way back down toward the infirmary after taking her paperwork to the war room, she sought out Finn, hoping he would still be there. When she stepped inside, she noticed him in the back corner, working on a patient. She waited until he was finished, and then drew his attention. "When you have a moment, I'd like to ask you a favor."

He moved toward the washbasin and spoke over his shoulder as he washed his hands. "I was just finishing up here. Give me a moment and we'll head to the tavern if you like?"

She nodded and stepped outside to wait for him. After he followed her out, they climbed the stone stairs to the upper courtyard. She was waylaid momentarily by Josie who stopped her to ask about when she was going to be sitting in judgement. She sent Finn ahead of her so she could talk to Josie and put off the task again.

Philippa crossed the courtyard and entered the tavern that was only slightly more animated than it had been when she and Sera were in there before their pranking escapades. She saw Finn at a table near the bar and she glided over to him. "Everything all right?" he asked, sliding her drink over to her.

She nodded. "I've realized that being Inquisitor is a lot like being in charge of the apprentices in the Circle. You fix everyone's boo-boos and make sure they all get cookies when they do something good."

"So you're still as relentlessly sarcastic as ever," he said with a smile, leaning back in his chair.

She smirked. "Wait until you meet my twin."

"I heard you almost lost him at Adamant," Finn said sympathetically.

She shuddered. "Without the help of a few others that refused to believe he was gone, I would have. That's actually the favor I was going to ask you. Cullen says the army will be returning in a couple of days. I was hoping you might double check my work."

He frowned and set his mug back on the table. "You're just as good a healer as I am. Possibly better, I haven't seen you in action lately. Why would you need me to 'double check'?"

"It would make me feel better. He was nearly dead, and I was low on mana. There were no wisps around because of where we were... Have you met Cole?" she asked. When Finn nodded, she continued. "Cole helped, but he is a spirit of compassion and not well versed in the healing arts. I just want to be sure Garrett's fully healed before I send him home to Anders."

Finn nodded. "I'll give him a once over if you do one thing for me..."

"What's that?" she asked suspiciously as he grinned teasingly.

"Would you please say the Commander's name again?"

"What?" she frowned, heat rushing to her cheeks. "No. Why do you want me to..."

Finn burst out laughing. "Oh, Maker! Look at you..." He had the sense to lower his voice and leaned in toward her. "What's going on there?"

She heaved a sigh, dropping her forehead to the table. "Maker's breath... am I that transparent?"

Finn pressed his lips together in a smile. "So I was right?"

"It's all very new..." she said, unable to help the smile that drew her mouth upward. "Like, this afternoon, new."

"Well, whatever it is, you look very happy. Your entire expression changes when you mention his name. If you don't want anyone to know, you might want to keep that in mind," he pointed out.

"I'll attempt to contain my enthusiasm," she chuckled. "Thank you, Finn, for agreeing to help with Garrett."

They polished off their drinks, and Philippa left him to head back to the gazebo as she had promised Cullen. It was dark already, and she cast a wisp to pick her way through the garden. Cullen sat in his usual chair, awaiting her. He looked up and smiled crookedly as she approached.

"We really should have a mage-light lantern installed out here," she suggested as she slipped into her own seat, her leg brushing his beneath the table.

"I'll add it to the list of jobs for the renovators," he agreed. "How did your talk go?"

"Finn agreed to give Garrett a once over after he arrives, Josie wants me to judge our prisoners, Oh, and Leliana needs to find some obscure amulet for Cole because he's afraid that Corypheus will bind him like he did the demons at Adamant," she reported.

"So a normal evening for you then?" Cullen teased as he started their game.

"It's a good thing I'm very good at glad-handing," she joked.

"You pretend you don't care, but I know better. You worry about everyone here. I know from experience that one of your pep-talks can bring a person back from the brink," he said.

"How _have_ you been doing?" she wondered, watching him as she took her turn.

"Some days are better than others," he confessed. "At the risk of sounding cheesy again, it helps to know that you believe I can endure it."

She nodded. "You weren't too keen on it before, but my offer still stands. I'm an expert at bad dreams," she offered.

"One step at a time, perhaps..." he said with a small smile.

"I understand," she said. "No pressure. I just..."

"Want to help?" he finished for her with an amused grin. "I know."

Their conversation lasted well into their game, thoroughly allowing Philippa to lose track of time. They ended up abandoning the game mid way through so she could get some rest. He walked her to her door by the throne and left her with a sweet kiss that lingered long after she fell into her bed.

When she rose in the morning, Philippa made her way to the main hall where she intended to head down to the dining hall below. When she stepped from her door, she saw Dorian heading toward her from the throne area. He was grinning widely and holding two mugs in his hands. “Well, well. You're up and about early.”

He handed one of the mugs to her and she investigated the tantalizing aroma as it wafted from the cup. This was definitely not tea. She grinned at him over the brim, taking a sip. The hot liquid hit her tongue, bitter at first, but then as it sat in her mouth, she tasted a bit of cream that had been mixed into it. “What did I do to deserve this?”

He stepped closer and his hand fell on her shoulder. “It's called coffee. Come, I have croissants in the library. I need to show you something amiss.”

She followed him up to his favorite spot and he set his mug on the table beside the wingback. His fingers traced the spines of the books. She leaned her butt against the rail that looked out over the rotunda. “You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter History. All these 'gifts' to the Inquisition and the best they can do is the _Malefica Imperio_? Trite propaganda... But if you want twenty volumes on whether Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, this is evidently the place to find it...” he removed one of the books and tossed it dismissively over his shoulder. Philippa watched it flop down over the rail and into Solas' space. Luckily he was elsewhere.

She sipped on her coffee, enjoying it more each time she took a taste. She closed her eyes and savored it then uttered a soft chuckle. “That's the Dorian I know, critiquing every book in my library.”

“I wouldn't have to,” he said tipping his head over his shoulder. “If you could find some rebellious heretic archivist to join the cause.”

“ _Are_ there rebellious archivists? Other than you, that is?” she asked, still amused at his tiff.

He turned to face her. “If Corypheus ever starts burning masterworks of literature, I'm sure a few will pop up.” His fingers went to his chin as he glanced back at the shelves. “Did I see something by Gentivi here? I could have sworn...”

She set down her mug beside his and approached him. “What is this about, Dorian?”

“What else could it be about?” he asked her with a raised brow. “What happened at Adamant, of course. We went into the Fade. _Physically_ went in. Are you...” he paused, turning and laying his hands on her upper arms. “all right?”

Her lingering fears were stirred up at his words. She lifted her arms to hug her own gut as it railed against her. “I'm really trying not to think about Adamant.”

Dorian clucked his tongue and pulled her against him in a tight hug. She melted into it, glad that their relationship seemed to be just as it had been before he met with his father. “The Fade is an ordeal under normal circumstances. To be the only real thing there... beyond description. That any of us made it out alive is difficult to believe.” He pulled away, his hands returning to her arms. “You do realize this feat hasn't been performed in over a thousand years...” He released her with a squeeze of his hands. “Corypheus and his contemporaries entered the Fade and began the Blights. In comparison...”

“I'm glad I had you at my side,” she said, rubbing her own arms and giving him a smile.

He chuckled. “No offense, but I'd almost rather I hadn't been.”

“You're telling me you weren't the least bit awed by the experience?” she teased. “I'm shocked.”

“I've not your talent for survival... and not everyone is as discerning as I,” he reminded her, his expression calm but wary. “If you can walk in the Fade, others will try to follow. Who knows what secrets Corypheus has revealed? Not all of them will be as lucky as you. What they could unleash... My advice? Keep this quiet. Let them speculate. Too many will see this as a challenge.”

The weight of his words gave her pause. “That's a good idea,” she sighed. She had met more than enough mages to know he was right.

He smiled at her agreement. “There are enough idiots in the world who think if they just use enough blood magic, their problems will vanish. It's exactly the sort of thing I want to stop back home. This... this I don't need...” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I _do_ need is a copy of the _Liberalum..._ I'll wager I can find Corypheus' real name. If I can prove he was a grasping ankle biter with no family to speak of... The luster would come right off.”

“You think that's possible?” She asked moving to stand beside him and glance over her own library. She was always so busy, she hadn't read a good book in ages. "I think I could have someone scrounge up a copy for you..."

His expression changed to one of curiosity as he leaned over toward her and buried his nose in her hair. When she raised a brow and stepped back, he grinned wickedly. “It is very faint, sweetheart, but _you_ smell of Templar.” When she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, he laughed lightly. “Am I to assume that you and our dear Commander have finally realized what the rest of us already knew?”

“Maker, I need to bathe before Vivienne gets near enough to smell me,” she groaned.

He sneered at the mention of Vivienne. “I fail to see how your happiness is any of _her_ business.” He slipped past her and picked up both their mugs, handing hers back to her. “Now, I wish details...”

“There you are!” Cullen greeted her a few days later, his mouth curved up in a lopsided smile when she visited him in his tower.

She approached him, her hips swaying lightly. “Anxiously awaiting my arrival so you could bask in my presence?” She asked teasingly, leaning forward to lay her palms on his desk. The heavy wood desk was still slightly wobbly from the bit of slate Sera had slipped under one of the legs. Philippa smiled in amusement.

“Yes... I mean, no...” he sputtered, his smile being replaced by a nervous pursing of his lips.

She chuckled sweetly and crossed her arms. “Oh good, I've kept and _not_ kept you waiting...”

He sighed and shuffled his feet. “Let me start over.”

“I'm all ears, Commander,” she offered holding her hand out, palm up. She loved the small flush that tinted his cheeks.

“We have some dealings in Ferelden, just a day trip. I was hoping you might accompany me. When you can spare the time, of course,” he managed to blurt out.

“You're acting suspicious... Is something wrong?” she asked, her brow rising with her suspicion at his fidgeting.

“What? No!” He assured her, taking her hands in his as he rounded his desk to lay a light kiss on her cheek. “I would rather explain there, if you wish to go.”

She studied him, his expression giving nothing away. She wasn't due to leave for the Halamshiral for another 3 days. She nodded, slowly, her curiosity getting the best of her. “I think I could sneak away for whatever suspicious 'dealings' you have planned.”

His smile returned and he squeezed her hands. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”

They rode south out of the Frostbacks, just the two of them. Cullen carried a satchel on his horse that he needed to deliver to the town where he'd grown up. She was curious why the Commander was taking the time to personally handle this, but she didn't ask. She was just glad to be away from Skyhold and alone with him. They certainly needed quality time. Her dappled grey gelding lagged slightly behind his large war horse, taking chances here and there to nibble at bushes and grass in his path. For once, she didn't scold him. There was no need to break the silence as she breathed in the crisp mountain air. Cullen also looked contented to be away. She watched him ride, his shield flicking bolts of light in her direction with the pace of his horse's stride. He broke her from her reverie, his head turning to glance in her direction. The glimpse of his profile momentarily stole her breath as he sighed. “I didn't realize how much I missed Ferelden, but I will always think of it as home. The countryside is so beautiful. Don't you think?"

“The last time we traveled across the Ferelden countryside alone, I ended up getting slapped with a smite,” she reminded him, with a teasing grin.

He chuckled, his voice echoing sweetly through the trees. A fennec paused on the road ahead to regard them before scurrying away. “In my defense, you had just lit a fire under my face. I think you singed some hair off my brow.”

She scoffed, flapping a hand. “I made sure you were sitting back.”

“My remaining facial hair thanks you,” he smirked, turning back to face the front of his saddle.

She urged her horse up closer to his. If they kept talking at that angle, he would likely get a cramp in his neck. She was quiet for a moment and then bit her lip. She knew of his background, she had lived it with him, but she was unsure of his current opinion. “May I ask you something?”

“Always,” he agreed, regarding her with a raised brow.

“Do you still regret the man you became after leaving Ferelden?” she asked, since he'd brought up Ferelden.

“After the Ferelden Circle, I thought all mages were like the ones there, you included. Meredith's methods were harsh, but they kept people safe,” he answered, shifting in his saddle.

She frowned. “You know Meredith was unstable.”

“She was my Knight-Commander. I had no reason to distrust her. She wasn't wrong about the blood mages in Kirkwall. Meredith encouraged my anger towards mages. But there was only so far I would go, and she knew that, too. I was her second in command, but she kept decisions from me... Those I would question. I believed she was serving the city. I never _thought_ to question her. Not until it was too late.”

“I hope you find the Inquisition's leadership more agreeable,” she teased.

He grinned widely and chuckled. “Forgive my lack of professional decorum, but very much so. The Inquisition is my chance to atone. I will not see it fail.”

“Where do you see yourself once all of this mess is sorted out?” she asked him, having thought about this same thing for herself many times.

He frowned, his head cocking to regard her. “To be honest, I hadn't given it much thought until recently. I'm not used to having so many... possibilities.”

“Do you think templars should cease to exist?” She broached her question timidly, not wanting to ruin their time together.

“No,” he said simply. She breathed a sigh as the question didn't seem to bother him. “I may have chosen to leave that life, but I respect those who remain. Magic ungoverned could tear the world apart. It's doing so now. Templars are trained and able to confront such dangers.”

“Do you have any thoughts on what should happen to what's left of the Order?” she asked with genuine interest. Cullen had a sharp mind and she wondered if he had any ideas.

“Some call the Circle a prison... that can only breed resentment.” He glanced at her, his eyes flicking towards her staff very briefly. “Perhaps opportunities to work outside the Circle? A mixed military service, or healers' clinics with templar support. And there must be a safer way for templars to leave.” He looked away before continuing. “Templars can lose their memories to Lyrium. Some call it a gift... to forget the failed Harrowings, the demons... Some atrocities haunt me still, but to lose what good I can recall... I nearly lost my mind once... It is no gift.”

She allowed him a moment to breathe as his eyes closed. She knew sharing these things was something he only did with her. The pain he must have endured made her hate Uldred all over again. “Do you think that could work? Would people accept it?”

“Mages would be watched, but could pursue interests outside the Circle... neither freedom, nor prison... I don't know.” He shrugged and sighed.

"If you don't mind my asking, of all the mages you've known in your life, what made you decide I could be trusted?" she wondered.

"I'll admit, it took me a very long time to trust _any_ mage after what happened. You know that. Don't think I was unaware of your little midnight jaunts. I kept a very close watch on you, afraid that Greagoir's assumptions about you would turn out to be true. After what happened with Meredith, I got to see a side of you that I never cared to before. You were kind, compassionate... you used your magic to help others before yourself. If you don't mind my saying, you were the prime example of what a mage _should_ be. After the Circles disbanded, I never thought to see you again. Running into Carver in Haven was a fluke..." he cringed. "Did you know that every time you physically enter the Fade, your phylactery goes dark? I kept that blasted thing after you left the Gallows so I would know you were safe. It's why we assumed you were dead after the Conclave..."

"Maker's breath," she gasped, unaware that he had been so attached to her. Philippa reached over and rested her hand on his bracer. “I'm sorry. I know you didn't bring me out here to talk about such unpleasantness.”

“There's no need for apologies. It's probably good that I talk about all the things I've kept bottled up all these years. I'm just... glad you're here to listen.”

They rode on for a few more hours and the dusk turned into night. Cullen led them off the road and Philippa was forced to follow closely, uncertain of where they were. When he stopped his horse and dismounted, Philippa could hear water lapping against wood nearby and the gentle tapping of what was likely a boat hitting a dock. He secured his horse to a fence nearby and she guided hers to stand beside it. “Where are we?” she asked softly as he helped her to the ground.

His hand found the small of her back and he led her in the darkness toward the sound of the water. She was tempted to take out her staff and light their way, but he seemed to know where he was going. She trusted him, so she followed. As her boots left dirt and landed on wood, she could almost make out the lake with the moon's light and it's reflection. His footfalls paused and there was a bit of rustling before a lantern flared to life. It was resting on a pole that held up the dock. An abandoned crab trap laid open on the dock and a net was slack in the boat that was causing the noise. His eyes fell on her as she took in the view. “You walk into danger everyday. I wanted to take you away from that. If only for a moment... I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.” He leaned against another support pole beside him, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands clasped before him. He gazed out over the lake, his face peaceful.

“Alone with a mage,” she taunted. "That doesn't concern you?” She had seen the sideways glance he'd given her staff earlier.

“The Templars have rules on... fraternization, but I am no longer bound by them,” he assured her, clearly not answering the question she'd asked. They had never truly been alone before. She wanted to know that he fully trusted her. How could they move forward if he couldn't allow her closer?

“Is that really what stopped you? After the Circle disbanded, I didn't leave Kirkwall. You could have continued to see me,” she asked, her heart racing with the fear that their backgrounds might still find a way to split them apart. She had tried so hard in the beginning to not let herself feel for him. Had he done the same? Was he still?

“I don't... I...” he stuttered and sighed.

She crossed her arms. “You could say, 'no of course not',” she tried to joke around the lump in her throat.

The look on his face was pained as he pushed away from the pole to stand closer. “It's hard to pinpoint exactly when I began to have these feelings...” At least it was something. She had to let it go. She truly cared for him. Why was it so hard to believe he felt the same? She stared out over the lake, feeling his eyes on her. It was quiet for some time before he spoke again. The breeze tossed her hair over her eyes and she allowed it, closing her eyes and waiting. “The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training. My brother gave me this...” She felt him move closer and she glanced over at his outstretched palm. In it was a silver coin, Andraste's likeness engraved on the surface. “It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck.” She turned her body so she was facing him. “Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our _faith_ should see us through.”

She stuffed her misgivings down deep and offered him a small smile. “You broke the Order's rules? I'm shocked!”

“Until a year ago, I was very good at following them. Most of the time,” he confessed. “This is the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn't give me.” He returned her cautious smile, his hand reaching out with the coin still sparkling in the moonlight on his palm. “Humor me.” She reached out and when her fingers touched the coin, his other hand came up to rest on hers. “We don't know what you'll face before the end. This can't hurt.”

“If there's anything I need, it's luck,” she agreed as he released her hand. She clutched the coin in her fist and held it to her chest, beaming at him.

“Good,” he smiled wider and reached out to drop his hand onto her waist and pull her to him. She stepped into his embrace happily. “I know it's foolish, but... I'm glad...”

His arms traced up around her waist and she felt her heart flutter in excitement. His forehead touched hers briefly before he brushed his lips over hers, tentatively. She raised her arms up to snake around his neck, the fingers not still clutching the coin slipping into his soft hair. She deepened the kiss, glad that he had been comfortable enough to bring her here. She wouldn't have blamed him if he'd feared her. There had been so much bad shaping his views. It said a lot about him that he was able to be the man he was now and still be able to care for her. He really was, deep down, a good person.

They had both removed their boots and rolled up their pant legs. Her legs dangled slowly in the water. They had been sitting on the dock for hours, just enjoying each other's company. Her marked hand was clasped in his and her head rested on his shoulder where he'd removed his pauldron and the rest of his heavy armor. Every few kicks, her leg would brush his under the water and she was grinning like a mad woman. The horses huffed behind them periodically, and she wished that they didn't have to go back. It was getting extremely late if the height of the moon was any indication. “We should probably head back soon,” his voice was low, but she could hear his smile.

“What about the satchel?” she asked, yawning lightly.

He chuckled, the movement of his shoulders jostling her head. “An excuse.”

She lifted her head and gasped in mock horror. “Oooo, you lied to Josie and Leliana! For shame, Commander!”

“I'm certain the ruse was worth it. At least for me,” he reached over and cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing over her skin. Then he pulled her close and they shared a short kiss.

“Hey, I got a lucky charm out of the deal,” she teased. He lifted his legs from the water, splashing her in the process of standing. “Hey!”

“How would your luck hold out if I tossed you in there?” he asked, grinning. Then he reached his hand down to help her up.

“Well, you'll be the one to explain why I'm returning to Skyhold soaking wet, master of deception...” she said with a giggle, flicking some stray water from her fingertips towards him. As she stood on the edge of the dock and taunted him, he got a devious look on his face. Before she knew what was happening, his hand on her side had shoved her gently, pretending he was going to push her in. Her wet foot slipped off the dock and she yelped in fear, "Cullen, I can't swim!" she shouted as she pinwheeled her arms, trying to save herself.

His hand whipped out, grabbing hold of her, but all he managed to do was tumble in after her. She hit the water with a splash, flailing her arms and at the last second remembering to shut her mouth and hold her breath. The darkness under the water was stifling and her heart began to race. As she panicked, she reached for her magic, sinking slowly with the weight of her clothing. After what felt like an eternity, her magic answered her call, springing to her palms. The pressure on her chest became nearly too much to bear as she silently called the light into being so she could see in the abyss of the water. Cullen had righted himself and was looking around for her, turned around in the darkness. When the light brightened, he spotted her and swam to her side. His arms wrapped around her and he dragged them both to the surface. She gasped in a breath, coughing as her head came up from the water and she could breathe again. "Maker's breath, are you all right?" he asked, holding her aloft with one arm as he plucked her sopping hair from her face and tucked it out of the way with the other.

She lifted her arms to cling to his neck and leaned her forehead against his, a hysterical laugh escaping her as she shuddered, her panic attack slowly receding. "Now we're both wet. You're so busted, Commander."

He chuckled, relief in his tone. “You can't swim?” he asked scoldingly.

She looked up at him, his face barely lit by the lantern above them on the dock, her magic having winked out, and crooked a brow. “When exactly was I supposed to learn how to swim during my stay in the Circle?”

He snorted, “Fair enough. Just know, when this is all over, I'm teaching you how.”

Their ride back was mostly silent, filled with coy smiles and a quiet comfortable air. It was nearing dawn, that dim semi lit calm before the birds woke to hunt for worms. After they'd climbed from the lake, she had dried their clothes with a spell so they could ride back without having to worry about chafing from the dampness, and the incident was quickly forgotten. Philippa had just tore her eyes from Cullen to tug her horse's nose away from a nearby bush when the pulsing of her hand began. She guided her horse slightly ahead of his and then pulled it to a stop, holding her right arm out to have him stop, too. She cocked her head and listened for rushing water. “Hawke?” Cullen asked, as he pulled his horse up next to hers, his hand already on his sword hilt as his eyes flicked all around, looking for the danger she sensed.

“Maker's balls,” she cursed, dismounting and unlashing her staff from the horse's saddle.

He was beside her in seconds. “Hawke, what is it?” he asked again. She tapped her staff on the ground and a dim light surrounded them. Without a word, she held up her tingling palm, showing him the green aura of magic that had spread to seep and crackle from the mark. His expression shifted from alert to concerned and then on to prepared. His shoulders stiffened and he drew his sword. His shield materialized from his back as if he had a magic all his own. “Are there demons?”

They weren't close enough for her to tell. “If there aren't, there will be,” she whispered, holding her staff aloft to keep the light from blinding them as she set off, following the tug of the rift.

His hand gripped her arm, his sword and shield both in the same hand to free up his right. “Wait, shouldn't we go ahead to Skyhold? Get reinforcements?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “That would take all day. Best to take care of it while we're already here. Plus, I have luck on my side, remember.”

He grunted as she gently pulled away and continued forward. "That didn't keep you from falling into the lake." The anchor led her into the woods amidst a cluster of sapling trees. The field was relatively flat, but the placement of the rift was tricky, allowing them little space to maneuver. She clenched her fist around the mark, flexing her fingers to try and relieve the numbness and calculated how many of the trees might be blown back when she opened the rift. It was a relatively small rift as far as she could tell, so that at least meant they weren't at risk for anything too large coming from the other side. “What do you mean to do, here?” he asked, breaking her concentration.

She glanced away from the rift and sighed. “The rift is dormant, but it isn't sealed. As long as it's here, it is a danger. I need to open it, which will likely attract demons, before I can seal it.”

Cullen rolled his shoulders and took up a fighting stance. “I'm just going on record to say that I hate this plan.”

She nodded. “Noted. When I open the rift, there will be an initial burst of energy and a small delay before the demons manifest.” She cocked her head . “Can you still dispel magic?”

He nodded. “My talents are not as strong as with lyrium, but I can still perform a few of the basics.”

“Good. If you could lay down a dispel, preferably across the field,” she smirked. “Before the demons can fully manifest, we may gain a slight advantage.” With a nod that he understood, she sighed. “Well, here goes.” She lifted her palm toward the rift, allowing the energies to connect and dance merrily together like old friends. She felt the magic come to a head and she shielded her eyes. The trees predictably cracked under the pressure of the release of Fade energy into the world. When she looked up, she began to immediately back up, noticing the small mounds of green that indicated where demons were going to manifest. Her eyes counted 6 within visual range. “Shit!” she cursed, immediately beginning to bend and twist her fingers and uncoiling her magic from her chest. She saw Cullen across from her, sword and shield at the ready. “Behind you, Cullen.”

Her magic slipped into her staff and she twisted her body dropping a barrier on both her and him a second after he laid the dispel. The demons sprung from the ground and the three surrounding Cullen looked mildly dazed and she was glad that she had brought up the dispel idea. She turned her attention to the demons on the field, ignoring the fresh headache. They had attracted two shades, a wraith, a portaling terror demon, a lava-made rage demon, and a despair demon. Cullen turned his back to her and charged at the already stunned wraith behind him. While he slashed at it after giving it a good wallop with his shield, she noticed that the demons all seemed to be flocking to him. Philippa spun her staff in quick circles, her fingers tracing a sigil in the air. Then she slammed the base into the ground and the chain lightening drew the attention of the two shades and the terror demon. Cullen finished off the wraith and returned his attention to the rest of the demons. Philippa cursed, hoping to have drawn rage and despair to her instead. She tucked her staff close to her body and breathed out, Fade stepping across the field to land beside the rage demon. The icy trail in her wake spread to lap cold fingers at the lava creature. It roared in anger, rising to it's full height, it's left arm reaching up, claws extended. Philippa dropped the winter's grasp spell from her staff and hurled it at the demon, slowing it to a crawl. It attempted to lash out at her, but she danced out of the way and drew an ice mine in it's path. It crept into the boundaries of the spell and froze solid as the magic exploded around it. With a cry of effort, she swung her staff by the butt, smacking the frozen demon with the head. It shattered and revealed Cullen struggling with the despair demon. The other three were advancing as well. Two on her and the other into the ground.

Philippa looked down at her own feet and there was no fog. Her eyes flicked to Cullen again and below him the ground was rippling green fog. “Commander!” she cried. He backpedaled, but not quickly enough. The terror demon sprung up and knocked him off his feet. As he was getting back up, it arched its back and began to shriek. Philippa called her stone fist and pointed her staff toward the demon, pushing it forward like a lance and releasing the spell. A fist sized ball of earth rocketed from the staff and slammed into the demon's back. It interrupted the shriek and the immobilizing spell it had been casting that would have knocked Cullen off his feet again. She had been busy with him and the shades that had been slithering toward her were all but on top of her. She flipped her staff and triggered the blade that Dagna had installed in it, assuring her that it would not interfere with the balance of the already perfect staff. It clicked into position and she slashed downwards, striking both demons before using another Fade step. She was trying to carefully conserve her mana, but with only her and Cullen to fend off the demons, she was running low. She fumbled on her belt for a lyrium potion and just as she had it in her grasp, her muscles seized and she dropped to her knees, panting as her barriers fell and her mana was sucked from her veins. Cullen had used a smite. _Dammit_ , she had been too close. She sat paralyzed for a moment trying to catch her breath and regain control of her limbs as he sprinted to her side.

“Maker, forgive me,” he whispered as he grabbed her by her arm and snatched the potion from the ground. He drug her to her feet and allowed her to lean on him as he uncorked the small bottle. The demons were all beginning to make their way back to them, the icy demon of despair floating on the air more quickly than the land bound ones. Her hands were shaking, but she was able to grip the bottle when he handed it to her. She downed the blue liquid and felt the snaking tendrils of the Lyrium slithering through her veins to negate the effects of the smite.

“Look out,” she whispered, lifting her weakened hand to point to the shades approaching. The despair demon was tugging at the edges of her mind, trying to get inside and pull to the surface every negative emotion she had ever had. From the look on his face, it was doing the same to Cullen. They needed time to regain themselves. She had no other magic at her disposal besides the magic that came from the mark until her mana stores refilled after the debilitating smite. She hobbled to her feet, leaning heavily on her staff. Cullen was engaged with the two shades and the other two demons were clustered between them. She breathed in and focused on the mark, tracing it's connection to the Fade. Her fingers twitched and she lifted her hand to the sky above the demons. A thundering hollow boom echoed around them and just as before, a small rift appeared above the demons. All four began to struggle as they were lifted and twisted in slow motion. Their bodies contorted and they all attempted to grab hold of something solid. Within moments, the rift closed back in on itself, taking the two shades and the despair demon with it. Cullen immediately jumped in and cut down the injured terror demon. “That won't be the last of them,” Philippa insisted, holding up her palm as he began to rush to her side again. “There are always more.”

In the seconds she had to recover before more spots on the ground began to grow, she quickly downed one more lyrium potion. She immediately felt her mana surge into her body and the first thing she did was a swift healing spell to wake her limbs back up and then an extra rejuvenation spell for more mana. Her magic coiled back into her chest like a cat circling a spot to lay and sun itself. A moment of dizziness caused her to stumble with the over use of the lyrium, but she quickly righted herself. Only four spots this time. Good. Two demons of rage, a wraith and a despair demon. She pulled her arms to her chest and traced a glyph in the air in front of her. The fist sized bolts of ice swirled from the glyph as she charged it with her frost magic. They each sought a target, dozens hitting each of the demons. Philippa felt the dizziness again and caught herself with her staff. “Hawke,” Cullen growled from a short distance away.

She knew better than to over do her potions. She shook her head and returned her attention to the battle. The despair demon homed in on her. She could feel it's icy grip on her mind as it floated toward her. She closed and then opened her fist, a blaze of fire appearing in her palm. She threw the fireball and struck the demon in the chest. It reared back, one of it's too skinny legs stretching out from under the cloak it wore and it shrieked. The sound echoed inside her head, bouncing around like a bee caught in a jar. She gritted her teeth and mimed a glyph that when triggered exploded in a burst of fire below the demon. She grabbed hold of the burning demon with a spirit arm and yanked it to the ground, grinding it into the dirt before touching her mana to the glyph. The flames completely enveloped the demon and it shriveled and exploded, icy darts shooting from it's corpse. One caught her in the arm and she flinched as she felt the blood begin to seep down to her elbow. Ignoring the stinging, she spun her staff and charged toward the two rage demons that were fixated on Cullen. She threw herself in front of them and drug the head of her staff along the dirt in an arc. The ice jutted up from her spell and blocked the demons from advancing, but it missed spearing them. “One for each of us,” she purred, her staff still spinning slowly in her fingers as she made her way around the wall of ice.

Cullen stood ready for his own demon and she focused on the one coming for her. She had a winter's grasp charged before it even got to her. Her spell jerked off course when another dizzy spell hit her as she was casting. Instead of the demon, she froze a nearby tree. She shook it off and had to dodge roll from the demon's swiping claws. Before she could get back to her feet, she heard a cry that nearly stopped her heart. She glanced over at Cullen and he had dropped his shield, his arm bleeding. Philippa gathered her strength and quickly cast another winter's grasp to freeze the demon still coming for her. When it's body stopped, frozen in place, she risked another glance at Cullen. He was now on his knees, and the demon was bearing down on him. It blocked her view of him and she growled in fear and anger. Swinging her staff from her knees, she used the momentum to help her to her feet. The heavy head tugged at her arms and stopped short when it smashed into the frozen demon beside her. She quickly pulled it back and froze the demon that had taken him down. She hit it with a stonefist to shatter it and then without looking at Cullen, she raced to the rift and sealed it before any more demons could come through.

“Andraste, no!” she cried spinning and sprinting to where he was lying in the dirt. She dropped to her knees over him, her hands hovering and the cool blue aura of her healing spell already circling her hands. Her eyes were full of tears. Through the blur, she ignored the injury to his arm and focused on the four scratches trailing across his neck. He was struggling to breathe, his eyes wild. “Hold still,” she begged as he tried to reach for her. She pushed her fingers between the cold metal of his cuirass and his slowly cooling skin. She was losing him. “They won't take you from me,” she promised between sobs. She pulled in a deep breath and focused on the spindle of magic coiled in her chest. She slowly unraveled the weave and prayed as she pushed the remainder of her mana into the healing spell. Under her palms, she could feel his skin knitting together as her energy sapped. She prayed she had enough mana left, at least to save his life. Her hands sparked and the magic died. She desperately ran shaking fingers over his neck, checking to be sure the wounds had healed. His skin was whole, but scarred. At some point, he had lost consciousness and she felt for his pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the steady beating of his heart beneath her fingertips. “Cullen,” she sobbed, tapping his cheek. She needed him to look at her, needed to see his amber eyes alive and focused. The blood off her fingers smeared on his face as she tried to wake him, still sobbing. “Cullen,” she called a bit more forcefully. His face contorted into a frown and his eyes fluttered. When they finally opened and his hand came up to stop her from slapping him, she pulled him into her lap. “Thank the Maker.” She wanted to kiss him, but the taste of lyrium still lingered in the back of her throat.

She felt her own head sagging under the weight of exhaustion. Her hair fell forward as he sat up, probing his own throat. She swayed, unconsciousness threatening to take her. His hand was on her arm and she jerked back to the present. If she fell asleep now, she would be at the mercy of the Fade, the effects of the lyrium allowing her to consciously dream. Any other time she would welcome the Fade, but her mana was sapped. It was a bad idea for her to be in the Fade without protection. Cullen knew this and he gripped her arm tightly. “Hawke, you _can't_ go to sleep.”

“Can't sleep,” she agreed groggily.

He was on his feet, the gravel beneath them grinding beneath his boots. “Come on. We need to get back to Skyhold.”

He pulled her upward and she sagged against him, unable to regain her footing. The healing spell had taken so much out of her, but she would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he was alive. “Sorry,” she breathed as he knelt, still supporting her to pick up his sword and shield. He strapped her staff to her back for her and hissed at the scratches on his arm that she hadn't been able to heal.

“What for?” He asked as he practically dragged her back toward the horses.

She was fighting oblivion. She had to be strong. For him. She swallowed a bitter taste in her mouth and sighed. “Help... should have... back to Skyhold...”

He grunted and she heard the soft snorting of the horses nearby. “No... you did the right thing. I was careless with my smite.”

After his voice faded, she lost her fight with her body, slipping into unconsciousness.

Philippa opened her eyes in the familiar landscape of the Fade. "Dammit!" she cursed, angry with herself for being so careless. It had been ages since she fought alongside Cullen, and she was used to Cassandra and her affinity for smiting everything in sight. She reached out with her senses, trying to get her bearings, but without her mana, she was unable to perform even the slightest spell, let alone see the stitches of the Fade so she could leave.

She moved to a nearby rock, sitting down where she could have full view of her surroundings in every direction. She would have to lay low until her mana returned, or she might draw unwanted attention to herself. She did that simply by existing, so keeping quiet was a must. Curious wisps floated around her, dipping in and out of sight. Other friendly spirits like wisdom, valor, justice, and compassion, went about their business, not paying much heed to her and the collection of wisps.

All she had was time. It was enough to allow her to reflect on how she could have done things differently. That second lyrium potion had been a mistake, but it had given her enough mana to heal Cullen's fatal wound. If she had waited to take the potion and she hadn't botched that first winter's grasp, she might not have needed the healing spell in the first place. As her mana slowly coiled back into her core, and she started to be able to feel more comfortable in her environment, she stood and hunted for a seam in the Veil so she could pull herself from the Fade.

She woke, her eyelids fluttering. She didn't know what she had expected, but it was certainly not what she saw. She was lying in the grass, her horse's saddle blanket laid out beneath her. Cullen's cloak was folded into a pillow and rested under her head. A small fire burned nearby. She sat up, looking around for Cullen and spotted him propped against a nearby tree, his arms crossed over his chest as his head drooped forward.

She stood up from the makeshift bedroll, feeling rejuvenated. Apparently conscious dreaming was good for the soul. Her boots and vest had been removed along with most of her armor, leaving her in her pants and tunic. She padded quietly toward the tree. He was also down to his casuals again. His breathing told her he was asleep, but his expression was pinched. Across his neck, four new scars shimmered lightly and would probably completely disappear once his body fully healed. Magical healings were nothing more than patch jobs for emergencies. The body still needed to do some work on its own. His injured arm was wrapped in a poultice that had come from her horse's saddle bags. She always had them stocked just in case. She got down on her knees beside him and carefully lifted his fallen arm to place it with the other. His rogue piece of hair had escaped again and she gently pushed it back into place before she whispered his name. “Cullen...”

He stirred almost immediately, his eyes opening to look directly at her. It took a moment of sleep driven confusion for him to realize it was her, but as soon as recognition dawned on him, he reached over and cupped her face with his hand. “Hawke... Maker, are you all right?”

She leaned into his touch, enjoying the roughness of his hand against her cheek. “I'm fine. I just needed a good night's sleep. I got lucky not to be noticed in the Fade.” He pulled his hand away and sat forward, burying his face in his palms. She pushed up off her knees and joined him to lean on the tree. “Are _you_ all right?” she asked in turn.

“We need to... _I_ need to learn to be more careful...” he said with a sigh.

“None of this is your fault,” she insisted, realizing he was blaming himself. “We've never worked _together_ on a battlefield. I should have listened when you wanted to come back for help. Cassandra smites everything in her path. I should have been more careful knowing I had a Templar on the field.”

He cringed at her calling him a Templar, but he didn't correct her. “And I was so intent on making sure you were safe that I shirked my own defenses. I needn't have worried, obviously. Even with all of the lyrium you took, I've never seen anyone capable of so many back to back spells.”

She shrugged. “I've had a lot of practice, lately, and I have a really good staff.”

“Your spells still need mana to back them up, no matter how many you store in a staff,” he said, heaping her credit back on her. “Watching you work, it was...” _disgusting, frightening, horrible?_ She winced as all of the worst possible options flashed through her mind. “incredible.” He reached over and extricated her wringing hands from each other, taking both of hers in both of his. “These hands... the hands of a mage... saved my life today. I will never forget that.” he lifted them up and kissed her knuckles.

Relief cascaded out of her in a laugh. “So you owe me... Like, huge...”

He chuckled. “Name your price.”

“Training ring sessions. You and me. We should know how to work together like I know how to work with the rest of my team,” she suggested, squeezing his hands tightly.

“Absolutely. I'll work them into our schedules,” he said immediately.

"You know..." She dropped his hands and pursed her lips. "I predicted this. I'm never going anywhere alone with you again," she teased. "You're always smiting me."

He shrugged casually, seemingly relieved that she was joking with him. "You probably deserved it at some point."

She sighed. "I suppose it's just one more way that you take my breath away." She leaned against him, and he dropped one of her hands to reach for her face again.

"Andraste preserve me, you're terrible." He gently pushed her face away as he smiled. "Get out of here..." Then he took her chin again. "Actually, come here. I finally have a way to shut you up."

She turned into the kiss he was offering, her heart light. After a few moments, and the kiss didn't break, her body urged her into a more comfortable position. She lifted a leg, turning around so she was straddling his lap. He didn't protest the new position, in fact, he pulled her closer. His hands roved up and down her back, slipping into her hair and massaging her scalp. Then his right hand followed her curves back down until it rested on her hip. Before she knew what was happening, his hand slipped up under her tunic and grazed over the ugly red lyrium scar. She hissed and pulled away, her heart giving a lurch. "Stop," she blurted, shifting out of his lap to draw her knees up to her chin and hug her shins.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his hand hovering just shy of touching her shoulder.

What _was_ wrong with her? She was the one who had climbed in his lap. She had been burning for ages to start their relationship, and now the thought of him laying eyes on all of the hideous scars she bore from her time in Kirkwall filled her with an irrational terror. She had hated them from the start, but back then, anyone seeing her naked body besides herself was a fevered dream. Even the one night she had spent with Anders so many years ago had not revealed her full body to him. Neither of them had seen much for that matter.

She got to her feet, quickly gathering her things. "We should get back to Skyhold..." Her hands were trembling as she slipped her boots on and laced them up. Then she picked up her horse blanket and brushed dirt from it with her hand before tossing it over the animal's back. Cullen watched her with a dumbfounded expression, but couldn't seem to find the words to say as she kicked dirt over the fire to snuff it. When he realized she was not slowing down to wait for him, he got to his feet and went about gathering his own things.

The ride back to Skyhold was silent, but nowhere near as companionable as it had been before they ran into the rift. She wanted to kick herself. After she handed her reins off to Ariane in the stables, the elf giving her a confused look, she smiled bitterly to pretend she was okay. Fleeing from Cullen's hard stare, she rushed to the one person that might be able to understand and to help. When she reached the infirmary, she was stopped on the way in as Garrett strolled out with a grin. "Ah! If it isn't my favorite twin!" He gripped her up, hugging her as tightly as he usually did.

"I'm your only twin, you idiot," she groused, glad to see him up and about, but in the middle of her own crisis.

"That's not very nice," he said with a pout. At the look on her face, he drew back his teasing expression and his eyes narrowed. "Did something happen? What's wrong?" His head whipped around as he scanned the courtyard. "I will thrash that bloody templar..."

"Garrett, stop!" she laid a hand on his chest. "Nothing happened. I'm fine..." she cocked her head, frowning. "And how did you know about me and Cullen?"

He tipped his own head and grinned. "You mean besides the doe eyes you constantly throw back and forth?.." she rolled her eyes and he continued. "Your healer friend is quite chatty when he gets excited... and he's very excitable."

"You are a terrible brother and I hate you," she said grumpily, crossing her arms.

He huffed. "I am a wonderful brother and you love me..." he knuckled her chin. "Anyway, Finn has given me the all clear to be up and walking..."

She glanced down at his leg. "Is there any stiffness or pain?" she asked, reaching to touch his leg, but he stepped out of her way.

"Only when I laugh," he joked. "I'm fine, Phil. I promise. I'm going to be heading home within the next few days. Anders is beside himself."

Philippa drew back and punched his shoulder as hard as she could. " _That_ is for trying to sacrifice yourself for me, you git." Then she smiled and reached up to kiss his cheek. "Give Anders my love, will you?"

Garrett rubbed his shoulder and smirked. "Only after I give him mine," he wiggled his brows and she snorted.

"You're disgusting. Get out of here," she said, shoving him toward the main hall. "I'm sure Varric will want to say goodbye before you leave."

"Right after I find your templar and give him my big brother speech," Garrett taunted as he strolled off, his gait seemingly unaffected by his injuries. She prayed he was joking, because in his current mood, Cullen was likely to take Garrett's head off.

With a heavy sigh, she stepped into the infirmary, and found it much the same as usual. There were still a few stragglers from Adamant, but most of the beds had been emptied under Finn's care. The man himself was sitting on a stool near the back of the room, rolling bandages. She approached him and sat across the table. "Would you like a hand?"

He glanced up at her with a smile. "I like company. If you want to roll as we talk, feel free." She smiled in return and slowly started to roll some as well. Finn watched her in between bandages and finally, he said, "You look a million miles away, Phil. Is everything all right?"

She shrugged, stacking her first bandage on the pile. "Oh, I'm just the biggest idiot this side of Thedas. No big deal."

"Uh oh," Finn set down the bandage in his hand. "What happened?"

She lowered her voice, and told him everything that had happened from the time they had left Skyhold until the time they returned. Finn listened intently, never once interrupting, the bandages all but forgotten. She brushed away an unbidden tear as she finished her story. "I am hopeless, Finn."

He chuckled. "You're not hopeless, Weaver. It's natural to be nervous or worried about this kind of thing when you truly care about a person. You want so badly for them to be physically attracted to you that you pick apart every flaw and imperfection. Before Ariane and I... took the plunge... I chickened out at least three times. I was certain she was going to leave me on the side of the road somewhere." He chuckled again. "My suggestion? Talk to the Commander. If he cares for you like he seems to, he'll understand, and he won't care how many scars you have."

"Promise?" she pouted with a sigh.

He stood and rounded the table between them to pull her into a hug. He kissed the top of her head. "I promise, Phil."

She left Finn to his duties and climbed the three tall flights of stairs to get to Cullen's tower. She knocked softly and when he called out for her to enter, she pushed the door open slightly and slipped in, closing it quietly behind her. He watched her as she approached his desk, hugging herself, her lip between her teeth. She could feel his eyes tracking her. "I... I came to apologize... and to explain..."

The quill that was in his hand found it's way to it's well, and she noted the slight tremble in his hand as the metal clinked against the glass. "That would be nice," he said curtly, folding his hands on top of the desk.

"Okay... apology first. I'm sorry, Com... Cullen..."

As she opened her mouth to continue, he held up a palm. "Listen..." his amber eyes lifted to catch her gaze, intensely holding her in place. "Phil..." It sounded strange to hear her name coming from his mouth. She didn't think she had ever heard him call her that before. She couldn't deny the small tug in her core as the sound rolled off his tongue. "I can understand if you wish to wait. Your first time..."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, her cheeks flushing as the words fell from her mouth. "You're not my first..." She could no longer hold his gaze. "It was before we even met in Kinloch..."

When she glanced up to see his startled expression, he frowned and stammered. "Maker's breath, how old were you?"

"Fifteen," she mumbled, shuffling her feet. "It was only once, and while I didn't regret it, we both knew it shouldn't happen again..."

He seemed to lose his chain of thought for a moment before he frowned again. He glanced up at her, hurt in his expression. "Then if you aren't... Why did you pull away?"

She took the opportunity to slip a bit of her usual carefree teasing into her tone as she looked at him through her lashes. "I told you I was here to explain, so if you'd shut up and let me talk..." she grinned, hoping it didn't look too ridiculous around the pounding of her heart that was happening in her throat.

He pressed his lips together and cleared is throat. "As if anyone could stop you from talking," he retorted, easing her anxiety with his own tone.

She started to pace, wringing her hands. "That first time... it was as far from intimate as you could get. We were stuffed under a blanket in the middle of the apprentice dorms, hands over each other's mouths to stifle any noise, robes up around our waists..." she sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. "As you know, Kirkwall was not exactly without trauma for me. I was abused both mentally and physically on multiple occasions. It has not left me without scars... Most of them, I can hide away under my clothes." She felt silly as she continued, wondering why she had reacted the way she had, but she bullied forward, needing to finish her explanation. "When you touched my side, under my shirt, it suddenly occurred to me that another human being... someone I care about, might just be as turned off by those scars as I am whenever I catch a glimpse of them in the mirror."

She refused to meet his gaze, but he grunted and she heard his chair scrape the floor as he stood. He was around the desk in moments, taking hold of her wrists and stopping her from pacing. "Can you look at me, Phil?" he requested softly, again using her name. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears that were threatening from escaping. Finally, she looked up at him. "That's better," he said with a small crooked smile. "Now, can you honestly look me in the face and tell me _you_ care whether I have scars or not?"

She reached up, tracing her fingertips over his scar on his lip that was currently tugged upward with his smile. He leaned his face into her palm, the mark humming between them. "Yours make you look dashing," she said, her thumb grazing over his brow.

"And yours, no matter how bad they are, tell anyone who might see them just how strong you are," he pointed out. "To have survived all of the hardships you did and to have won the battles you fought. A lesser woman would not still be pushing herself to do what's right for everyone around her in spite of her own safety."

She drew her arm back down and wrapped it around his waist, huddling against him, her face buried between his neck and the fur on his cloak. "I like it when you say my name," she whispered softly.

He chuckled, the vibration of his voice humming through her as he hugged her. "At least you took _something_ away from this conversation." Then he shifted her in his arms and lifted her chin so she was looking him in the eyes again. "And I promise that as long as you are uncomfortable, I will not push for anything you aren't willing to give. Just please don't shut me out, all right?"

She hummed her own chuckle. "I'll attempt to be a little less crazy."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he chided playfully.

"The lion has spoken," she mocked, lifting her hands to play in his hair, making him hum in pleasure before dipping his head to kiss her gently.


	37. A Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa finally heads for the Winter Palace to save the Empress and gain Orlais' support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a long one here. Buckle up.

"You're late, Inquisitor," Vivienne scolded a few hours later when she found Philippa idling in the gardens with Dorian after Cullen had to get back to his paperwork. She had miraculously finished her own stacks before they left for Honnleath, and had not received more than a few reports that needed her attention in the meantime.

"Exactly where was I supposed to be?" Philippa asked, cocking her brow as Dorian attempted to shuffle a few pieces around on the chessboard while she was distracted. She discreetly used her magic to shift them back and set a triumphant grin on him. Cullen had warned her that Dorian was a cheat, and she had been foiling his attempts all day, turning it into a game that he enjoyed immensely.

"Your fitting of course, my dear. We need to be certain your dress fits before you show up in the Winter Palace," Vivienne said as she placed a hand on her hips and cocked them dramatically. We must also be certain you are trained in at least the basics of ballroom dancing."

Philippa shook her head. "I don't dance Vivienne! I don't have a clue how!"

Vivienne raised a brow. "You're going to an imperial ball, my dear. What do you suspect your evening is going to consist of?"

Philippa shrugged, biting her lip, "Eating canapes and avoiding assassins?"

"If that's what you believe, I'm dreadfully concerned for the reputation of the Inquisition," Vivienne said with a grimace.

Dorian sighed and stood from where he was sitting. "Let's get all of the seamstresses out of the way first, and then, I will teach our dear Inquisitor the finer points of proper ballroom dancing." He bowed low, flourishing his hand outwards to offer it to Philippa.

She grinned and took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet and twirl her around a few times as she giggled. "Whatever you say, Vivienne. I'm here to learn, I suppose."

That was how she found herself closed in her quarters, standing on top of an ottoman in a floor length, dark red dress, hugged by a black corset, trimmed with decorative studs made of dragon bone metal. The fabric which was called Highever weave, had golden thread sewn in swirling shapes, delicately throughout the sleeves and her upper body. The sleeves were full length, hugging her arms tightly all of the way past her wrist where golden rings dangled from the tips and hooked around her middle fingers. The dress had no shoulders, the corset holding it in place. According to Vivienne, petticoats were all the rage in Orlais, but at the mention of having them added to the dress, Philippa shook her head vehemently. "I need to be able to function like a human, Vivienne. I'm used to robes, so the dress isn't a problem, but I draw the line at ruffles and anything else puffy," she shuddered.

Vivienne hummed with mild disapproval, but as she circled Philippa, admiring the craftsmanship of the dress, she nodded in agreement. "The colors go well enough with your complexion to draw attention away from the loss of the layers."

After the seamstresses around her feet measured where the dress needed to be hemmed, a thin sash of silk brocade was draped around her hips to hang down her left side. According to Vivienne, the blue matched the sashes that the uniforms of the rest of the Inquisition had across their chest. The final step was to take a mold of her face, around the eyes so they could craft a mask of the Inquisition's design that would not need to be tied or held on. It would simply conform to her face and stay. With the pins all in place, Philippa hiked the skirt, stepped off the ottoman and moved behind her screen to change back into her regular clothes while the workers went about their sewing and Dorian was allowed back up to begin his lessons.

When they left for Halamshiral, Philippa and her usual party in tow, they were doing it in style. Large carriages pulled by two horses each transported her and the others to ensure that no dust or dirt from the road could damage their clothing. Varric sat beside Philippa, Cassandra across from her and Dorian in the far corner. They were all dressed in matching doublets and pants, the tops the same red as her dress, and trimmed in gold with tassels on the shoulders. The pants were a dull brown that made Philippa glad she had been singled out to wear something different. The slippers that went with her dress were black and gold to match her corset, and she had a halo of red flowers around her head to dress up her hair that Josephine had complained was 'un-styleable'. Their masks, which none of them were wearing yet, were crafted precisely so their actual eyes stood in for the flame ringed eyes of the Inquisition's heraldry. Josephine had insisted that when the time came, she would personally see to Philippa's make-up as well. Philippa was not looking forward to the invasion.

The trip was relatively silent until the middle of the third day when Varric decided he was going to make things a little more interesting. He lifted the cover of the window beside him and grinned. "I spy..."

"No," Cassandra said immediately, crossing her arms.

He glanced back in the carriage, "But..."

"No," Cassandra repeated in the same bored tone.

Varric grunted and dropped the cover, crossing his own arms. "Well you should be good at finding things. Of course, you... couldn't find Hawke."

Cassandra's eyes flashed toward him and she glared. Dorian sat straighter, sensing the rising tension just as Philippa was. "So tell me this, Cassandra. Are Nevarran cities of the dead _actually_ filled with undead?"

Philippa shuddered at the thought, believing that the undead were her least favorite foe to battle outside of the red templars. Cassandra drew her eyes away from Varric, slowly, to answer Dorian's question. "Of course. The Mortalitasi lure spirits to possess every corpse buried there."

Dorian frowned, waving his hand as he spoke. "And then what? Let them... wander around willy-nilly?"

"Only in the abandoned areas," Cassandra corrected him. "The rest are sealed up in their tombs, I suppose."

"Forever?" Dorian gaped. "I almost feel bad for them."

Cassandra grimaced. "After a time, the moaning grates on the nerves. Trust me."

"My family once took me to Nevarra," Dorian continued.

Cassandra nodded and smiled lightly. "You undoubtedly saw more of it than I ever did."

"I was young," he scoffed with a chuckle. "and all I wanted to do was visit a necropolis. I was desperate."

Cassandra shrugged. "They're dark. And full of undead. And the smell of stale incense still makes me want to vomit."

"Ah," Dorian said, his lip curling back. "There goes that childhood fantasy."

The carriage began to slow, and Philippa frowned. "Are we stopping?"

"Is it too late to turn around and go back?" Varric grumbled.

The carriage halted and Philippa pushed open the door to poke her head out. She glanced around and saw they they had stopped near a lovely clearing graced by a water fall. The clearing was already bustling with men and women setting up camp and disturbing the wildlife. It was only just after noon. Philippa frowned and hopped from the carriage to find her advisers. “What's going on?” she asked with curiosity as the three of them stood in a circle. They were all wearing the same awful outfits, and the only one who didn't look painfully different was Josephine. It was like she was born for the formal wear in spite of the fact that it wasn't festooned in ruffles as most of her attire. Cullen looked bitter. She had seen him outside his armor before, but then it had been comfortable and he had been relaxed. Now he clutched his sword hilt with a brooding look on his face. Leliana was without her usual hood and Philippa realized she had not seen the spymaster's shock of red hair since they had initially met in Kinloch. She kept it cut just below her hair line and parted to the left. A single small braid hung amidst the rest on her left side. It was a simple style, but it suited her, and hadn't changed in all of the years.

“One of the wagons carrying some of our supplies had one of it's wheels snap in two,” Leliana said with a cheerful smile. “We decided to make camp early to allow time for it to be repaired.”

Philippa nodded in understanding. “Is there anything I can do to help? Lift the wagon, hold an axle in place...”

“Let the workers do their jobs, Inquisitor,” Josephine scoffed, her eyes widening at the thought that Philippa might do something to ruin her dress before they even arrived, even if she had meant with magic.

“Okay, but I am _not_ going back to that carriage. Cass and Varric should never be locked in the same space,” she whispered.

Cullen chuckled in spite of his discomfort. “You are welcome to travel with us, we have a free seat.”

Leliana chuckled as well. “The one beside you, no doubt,” she teased.

They had not formally announced their relationship, but they had no longer hidden their affections. Philippa nor Cullen were overly comfortable with brazen displays in full view of the entire Inquisition, but small gestures and how they interacted together was enough to set the gossip wagon on it's ear. A light flush came to Cullen's cheeks and Philippa smirked.

The Winter Palace was unlike anything Philippa had ever seen. When they heard the announcement that they were approaching, she had pushed aside the curtain on the window beside her. She gaped at the marvel in architecture. The main structure was outlined with several towers and flying buttresses that added to the elegant sweeps of the curving décor and drew your attention to the golden lions that stood watch over it all. The entire palace was painted with the traditional powder blue and white that the empire loved so much. “Inquisitor, please,” Josephine scolded.

Leliana chuckled. “Let her gawk, Josie. Better now than in front of the Court.

“Even the Circle towers weren't as shiny as this,” she mused as Cullen grabbed hold of her belt while half her body found it's way out the window to get a better look.

“Yes, and this is just the Winter Palace,” Cullen reminded her with a tug to pull her back inside.

She returned to her seat. “So, Josie, give me the rundown again.” Philippa wanted to be certain that she did everything right.

Josephine sat a bit straighter and then reached out to brush some of Philippa's hair back into place. Before they had set out that morning, Josephine had applied khol to Philippa's eyes, and red rouge to her lips, amplifying the shocking blue of her eyes and the pout of her lips. “The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread. The Empress fears our presence could sever it. The Grand Duke is only too happy to have us at the ball as his guests, so our invitation comes from him. Whether we act as his allies, or upset the balance of power, he gains an opportunity... if not a clear advantage.”

“So, I need to get in and do some discreet digging to find out who exactly is planning to murder Celene...” she finished. Cullen's hand had remained behind her, resting gently at the small of her back. In spite of the circumstances, her mood was light. She'd never been to a ball of any sort, never mind an Orlesian royal ball. It was exciting to say the least.

“Precisely,” Leliana purred as the carriage rolled to a stop. “The rest of us will head in first and give you some time to mingle outdoors before you are officially announced. We will brief you once you have been greeted by Celene in the Ballroom.”

Cullen exited first, Leliana followed and then Josephine, leaving Philippa as the main event. Her advisors had formed a discreet circle around her so a stray arrow couldn't take her out before she even passed through the beautiful golden gates of the Winter Palace. A row of Inquisition soldiers lined both sides of the cobbled path that led into the large garden courtyard that decorated the entrance of the massive white marbled palace. Everywhere you looked, there were golden statues, mostly of lions, and blue accents that were common in Orlesian architecture. Philippa took it all in as she strolled importantly through the gates, miraculously remembering not to allow her jaw to drop. Skyhold, though less shiny, was much more impressive when you saw everything up close.

The courtyard doubled as a decorative entrance to the Palace, adorned in dozens of planters filled with any number of colorful flowers and trees. Fountains dotted the gardens as far as she could see. Two grand staircases swirled upwards from either side of the central landscaping, meeting in the middle where a wide balcony stood behind another set of gates that had been flung wide. More stairs on both sides led up to second story balconies that hovered over the lower ends of the main entry, supported by marble columns. Before she could even make it a few feet past the first set of gates, she was greeted by a man who could be none other than Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. Empress Celene's cousin and the number one contender for her throne. He seemed eager to approach her and make her acquaintance, and Josephine's words echoed in her mind as she dipped in a polite curtsy as he bowed to her. _Whether we act as his allies, or upset the balance of power, he gains an opportunity... If not a clear advantage._ Philippa took in the Duke's puffed out turquoise trousers, tucked in his boots that rose to his knees. They were topped with an elaborate hauberk that was many colors, the most prominent being a dull yellow. Philippa would not have been surprised if beneath it he wore a cuirass, judging from the unnatural shape of his chest. He was similarly armored from his shoulders to his elbows, by ridiculously pointed vambraces that stuck straight out at the elbows when he crossed his arms. His mask was gold, clashing with the dull metal of his vambraces and it concealed his face from his hairline to his upper lip. It held a laughing expression with a nose that extended unnaturally long into a sharply pointed tip. The light beard he kept seemed to continue straight up into his hair, because there was no distinction between the length of either, both military short. As he spoke and rose from his bow, Philippa noted the strange length of his earlobes, before she noted the ice blue color of his eyes. That was how narrow the eye slits were on his mask. "Inquisitor Hawke! We meet at last! I've heard so much about you. The rumors coming out of the Western Approach say you battled an army of demons." He crossed his arms, the elbows of his vambraces jutting forward. "Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais!"

Philippa chuckled, unable to control herself. “And which one _was_ the rightful one, again? I keep getting them confused.”

The Duke did not take offense to her remark and instead bowed formally and grinned. “The handsome, charming one, of course, my lady.” She stifled the laugh that nearly broke through. How arrogant could you be? And how stupid did he think she was? “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I'll help you... My lady, are you prepared to shock the court by walking into the Grand Ball with a hateful usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next age!”

How dramatic. Philippa forced a smirk onto her face and played to his ego. It was clearly the way to go with Gaspard. “I know I'm impressed by us... Who wouldn't be?”

“You're a woman after my own heart, my lady.” He paused as his eyes moved behind his mask, sizing her up. “As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening. This elven woman Briala... I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these 'ambassadors' all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.”

Philippa raised a brow. “Half the serving staff if elven. Is it so odd to find them wandering about the palace?”

“That 'ambassador' Briala, used to be a servant of Celene's. That is, until my cousin had her arrested for crimes against the empire to cover up a political mistake. If anyone in this room wishes Celene harm, Inquisitor, it's that elf. She certainly has reason.” He sighed, making certain to convince Philippa that he was tired of everything that was happening. She wasn't buying it. “Be as discreet as possible. I detest the game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains. We're keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor, shall we?”

"I will be just a moment, Your Grace. I wish to be certain everything is in order with my people and tour the gardens before I enter the ballroom," she said without breaking etiquette by outright denying the offer. Josephine and Vivienne had taught her well in only a few days.

With a curt nod, he allowed her to slip from the conversation, letting her know he would be waiting outside the ball room in the vestibule. Philippa made a show of walking among the rows of large planters, her ears on high alert. She made a circuit of the lower level. There was a door beneath the balcony on the right as you headed for the main entrance. She could feel magic humming by the door and she reached out to touch it. There was a Halla symbol carved just above the handle and Philippa cocked her head, wondering what that could mean. Surrounding the door were several hollows, each one with a small ornament fitted in. One of the hollows was empty. Unable to get the door open, Philippa left it a mystery.

Upstairs, on the balcony to the left, she overheard some of the nobility discussing the casualties in the Dales where most of the civil war was taking place. It made her glad that Finn and Ariane had gotten out when they did. Things sounded grim. As she was listening under the guise of smelling some of the flowers in the upraised bed beside her, she happened to glance to her side and see a small statuette shoved under one of the benches that lined the balcony. Frowning, she moved to sit down, casually crossing her legs. When she was certain that no one was watching, she reached down and scooped it up. It was a statuette of a Halla. She wondered whether it might open that door if she placed it in the empty hollow. She stood and with the Halla clutched in her hand, she made her way back down from the balcony. She didn't get a chance to try the door however as Josephine waved her over from the entry to the Vestibule. “Inquisitor, a moment, if you please?” Philippa tucked the Halla beneath the bottom of her corset and smiled, making her way over to Josie. “I must warn you before you go inside. How you speak to the court is a matter of life and death. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness.”

Philippa was now used to this speech. She had heard it about three thousand times over the course of the week. She simply continued to smile and allow Josie her little meltdown. “Don't they sound delightful. I'm shocked we haven't invited the court to dinner at Skyhold.”

“The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. You were safer in the Fade with the fear demon,” Josephine sighed, but her hands were pinned to her sides. The urge to fidget must have been unbearable if her expression spoke the truth.

“Another reason to look forward to the evening. I love Wicked Grace,” Philippa teased, giving Josie's arm a pat as she walked past her toward the vestibule.

“Everything will be fine!” Josie said cheerily as if she were trying to convince herself. Philippa also caught the whispered prayer as the ambassador followed her inside.

Inside the entrance, the air was cool, but the scent of Orlais met Philippa's nostrils in a wash. She couldn't help but to inhale the heady blend of floral perfumes, roasted meats and specialty cheeses, and the hint of leather and furniture polish. The stairs up were wide enough that at least five people could have walked abreast. They were lined with a thin tread in royal blue, the handrails golden. Philippa carefully made her way to the top, seeing the rest of her people waiting for her. Cullen and Cassandra stood side by side, both of them looking like they would have preferred to be anywhere else. Their arms were crossed and the expressions beneath their masks were so similar that Philippa had to fight the urge to giggle. Dorian was taking in everything around him with an amused smirk, and Varric was quite successfully hiding behind Cullen as he grumbled. "Shit. I just saw two dwarves from the merchant's guild go inside. If anyone asks, I'm not here."

Philippa passed by, pausing to give them all a light smile while Josephine took her carefully guarded scroll from her belt that held all of their names and titles for the herald to announce them. Cullen cleared his throat. "It will take some time to get our men into the palace. I'll alert you when we're ready."

Philippa followed Josephine to Duke Gaspard who offered her his elbow. She took his arm and his men threw the doors to the ballroom open wide. Philippa was in awe as Gaspard led her around the rail of the balcony that circled the sunken dance floor. The floors were made of shined tile in diamond patterns, the balusters on the bannisters and rails were painted gold. The enormous support columns that lined the room were draped in royal blue curtains. Golden statues lined the dance floor, two per side, flanked by long tables with refreshments atop them. The massive chandelier in the middle of the room hung low so it lit most of the dance floor, decorative sconces along the walls making up for the rest. The dim lighting made the golden accents shimmer that much brighter. A flight of stairs, a landing, and another short flight of stairs took her and Gaspard to the dance floor. The room had gone quiet as the Herald started to announce them when they hit the landing. "And now, presenting... Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. And accompanying him... Lady Inquisitor Hawke, former First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi!" They paused to bow as the Empress moved to stand behind the railing above the stairs in the opposite side of the rectangular dance floor. The Empress tipped her head in response as the Herald continued. "Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground! Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!"

"This guy writes better fiction than I do," Varric mumbled quietly from her back.

Her arm tightened around Gaspard's as the Herald added embellishments and he chuckled, "Did you see their faces? Priceless."

Philippa did not look around, less amused than Gaspard. She focused her sights ahead, glad that the Herald had moved on from her. "Accompanying the Inquisitor... Renowned author Varric Tethras. Head of noble House Tethras, Deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchants Guild. Lord Dorian Pavus, member of the Circle of Vyrantium, son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel. Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena..."

"Get on with it," Cassandra interrupted with a scowl that Philippa didn't need to see to know was present.

"Pentaghast," the Herald finished, clearing his throat. "Fourteenth cousin to the King of Nevarra, nine times removed. Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine. Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition, Former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Seneschal of the Inquisition and Left Hand of the Divine. And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.” The man was going to need a glass of water after that mouthful. They moved forward as a group and Philippa could feel the eyes of the onlookers peeling away her flesh layer by layer. She pressed her lips together and they quickly reached the stairs.

They stopped on the landing beneath the Empress, and another woman stood at her side. The Empress was dressed in a floor length dress that was layered so wide that it stood out a foot from her legs. It was colored the same royal blue as the curtains hanging from the columns, and trimmed in gold. Like Philippa's dress, it was off her shoulders, revealing her pale skin which matched almost perfectly with her white blonde hair that was done up in a intricate braided style off her neck. Behind her, fanning out like she held the sun on her back was a golden, spiked, decorative shield, the face of the lion of Orlais molded into the middle. Her mask was rounded at the top and shaped to her cheeks only reaching as low as her cheekbones. Unlike Gaspard's, the eye holes were wide and revealing so her perfectly applied makeup was visible around her pale blue eyes. She smiled sweetly.

The woman at her side had strong features, a sharp jaw and dark stare. Her mask matched the Empress' which put her on Celene's payroll or in her family. Her dress was much less puffed up around her legs, and it was a cream color, inlaid with brown around her upper body. The neck of it fanned out behind her in a stiff cowl and on both shoulders, a small red bow rested between the seems of the cowl and sleeves. Her hair was the same color as Celene's and cut drastically short in a similar style to how Krem kept his. She was _not_ smiling.

Gaspard allowed Philippa to take her arm back and said curtly, "Cousin. My dear sister." So the woman was the Grand Duke's sister. Philippa remembered Josephine saying her name was Florianne.

"Grand Duke," the Empress said in a flowing Orlesian accent as she bent her knees in a polite curtsy, her fingers clasped before her, elbows wide. "We are always honored when your presence graces our court."

"Don't waste my time with pleasantries, Celene," Gaspard barked. "We have business to conclude."

Celene waved off Gaspard's curt greeting and still smiling said, "We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests."

With a sneer curling his lips, Gaspard bowed low with a flourish of his hands. Then he said, "Inquisitor..." before leaving the landing to, one would assume, mingle.

"Lady Inquisitor," Celene addressed her. "We welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible."

The woman dipped in a curtsy and then said, "What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities." She smirked and began to turn away. "We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor."

Once the Duchess was gone, Celene addressed Philippa again. "Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer's day."

“Let's hope the breeze does not herald an oncoming storm,” Philippa said in way of warning that there was much going on that Celene should be worried about.

“Even the wisest mistake fair winds for foul. We are at the mercy of the skies, Inquisitor,” Celene said as if there were nothing to fear. “How do you find Halamshiral?”

“Indescribable,” Philippa said truthfully. “I have never seen it's like and I find myself without words.”

“Your modesty does you credit,” the Empress said with what Philippa thought might be a genuine smile on her lips. “and speaks well for the Inquisition.” O _h, do I get a cookie?_ Philippa thought. “Feel free to enjoy the pleasantries of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

Philippa bowed and made her way up from the dance floor to where she had seen the others disperse. At the top of the staircase, Leliana was waiting for her, a concerned look on her face. If she was letting it show, her news must have been big. “Inquisitor, a word, when you have a moment.” Before Philippa could respond, Leliana disappeared into the crowd.

Philippa felt extremely out of place. She was unsure which direction to take, so she went to her right, further toward the back of the ballroom and past the balcony where Celene and the Duchess had retired. It seemed as if there was not much to be seen there, so she continued, feeling lost until the reached the opposite side of the ballroom. Standing by a tall rounded table, backed into the wall, was Cullen. He was surrounded by a plethora of other guests, all of whom were offering to get him drinks and asking if he'd like to dance. His arms were crossed over his chest in a defensive stance and his cheeks were nearly as red as his coat. She politely pushed her way through the crowd to approach him. “Inquisitor! Did you need something!” he asked, pushing away from the wall to take her elbow and lead her a short distance from the crowd that seemed to slowly reassemble as they spoke. “The sooner we track down this infiltrator, the better.”

“You have a fan club, Commander,” she pointed out, her voice teasing. “Is there something besides your devastatingly handsome face that they want from you?”

“I don't know, but they won't leave me alone,” he sighed, his cheeks flushing redder.

“From the way you're holding yourself, I would have thought you invited the attention,” she poked. Her lips curving up in a smirk.

His brows rose. “Hardly. Anyway, yours...” he cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

She smiled sweetly and resisted the urge to reach up and give him a peck on the cheek. Instead, she rolled her shoulders back and asked. “Any pearls of wisdom, Commander?”

He scowled. “Orlesian social events don't fall within my area of expertise, Hawke. There are few here we can trust. Be careful.”

“Who do you think we should throw our masks in with?” she asked him, a teasing smirk slipping into place beneath her own mask.

She saw his small eyeroll before he said. “Gaspard's claim to the throne is fair. Orlais needs someone capable of responding to the crisis at hand. A military-minded leader seems the best option.”

“Anything odd that you've noticed yet?” She knew in spite of the harassment he was suffering, his eyes were likely still picking out threats.

He sighed. “This is Orlais. Everything is odd... but not yet. It would be easier if people would stop talking to me.” He quickly blinked at her and amended his statement. “ _Other_ people. Not you.”

She grinned and glanced at Cullen's suitors. Then she asked softly. “I don't suppose you'd save a dance for me?”

“No, thank you,” he said dryly.

“Oh...” She felt her smile falter as her heart fluttered in disappointment.

He seemed to realize what he'd said and he twitched as if he wished to touch her arm, but knew it was a bad idea. “No! I didn't mean to... Maker's Breath! I've answered that question so many times, I'm rejecting it automatically.” He sighed as she listened to his explanation. “I'm not one for dancing. The templars never attended balls.”

She nodded her understanding and said, “We'll talk later?”

“I await your signal.”

In spite of Cullen's grumpy mood, Philippa was eager to take it all in, admiring the paintings hung around the walls of the ballroom between sconces. Before she got far, she heard an excited squeal. "Josephine! Oh, Josephine, is this her?"

Philippa stopped, curiosity pulling her to where Josephine stood with a younger woman, looking slightly cross. Josephine sighed and rolled her eyes. "Inquisitor, please allow me to present to you my younger sister. Yvette Gabriella Montilyet."

Yvette's dress was much in style, similar to the one the Duchess wore, but less opulent. Where the Duchess' was brown, Yvette's was an emerald green, and she wore a head wrap with a flopped over adornment that looked like a chef's hat had fallen to the side. Philippa had seen the same style of hat on many of the guests. "Delighted to meet you, Lady Montilyet," Philippa said with a smile.

Yvette giggled excitedly. "Inquisitor, I've heard so much about you! But not as much as I want. Josephine writes, but she never _tells_ me anything. Is it true rebel mages in Redcliffe were performing blood rites and orgies before you stopped them?"

"Where did you hear such nonsense?" Josie gasped, her eyes wide.

"Everyone in Antiva says so! Is it true?" Yvette looked at Philippa expectantly.

Philippa pressed her lips together and nodded gravely. "Of course. Every word. Especially the parts where everyone was nude."

"I _knew_ it!" Yvette gasped as Josie shot daggers at Philippa who shrugged with a smirk.

"Tell me about yourself, Lady Yvette. This is the first time I've encountered any of Josephine's family."

Yvette rolled her eyes and it was nearly identical to when Josie would pull the same expression. "She would forget to mention the artists. I've been studying painting under Antiva's royal tutors. You should be proud, Josie. I'm going to be exhibiting my work next season in the city's biggest salon," Yvette announced proudly.

"Have you actually sat down and finished a painting yet?" Josie scolded.

"I must wait for my inspiration," Yvette said with indignation.

"And I must wait for your tutor's bills," Josie mumbled.

"Enjoying the ball?" Philippa asked to change the subject.

"I see many..." Josie began.

Yvette interrupted in excitement. "The dancing is so dull, Your Worship, but the Empress' gallery is _magnificent_!"

"Yvette..." Josephine sighed.

Yvette bit her lower lip. "Sorry, Josie."

"Go on, Josephine," Philippa encouraged.

"Half of Val Royeaux must be empty, so many of the empire's finest are in attendance. They've noticed the Empress paying you special attention, but they don't quite know how to take advantage of it yet. This uncertainty won't last long, I'm afraid."

Philippa accepted the information with a nod and then glanced at Yvette with a sly grin. "This may be my only chance to hear about when Josephine was a girl."

Yvette pounced. "Oh, yes! Has she told you about when she was ten and..."

"Yvette. Stop," Josephine warned, her face flushing.

"Fine. What about when we were climbing the cliffs by the..."

"No!" Josephine hissed.

"She once told the Duke of..."

"Absolutely not."

Watching the sisters exchange scathing yet teasing glances made Philippa smile, reminded of her own siblings, before Yvette blurted, "She still plays with her doll collection when no one's looking!"

Josephine's cheeks reddened further. "Yvette! That's... absurd. Absolutely preposterous!" she stuttered as Yvette snickered into her fingers.

Philippa tossed Yvette a wink. "I'll see you later."

"Another time!" she responded excitedly.

Philippa moved away, admiring the golden filigree vine and fleur de lis decorations on the ceiling above the dance floor, and then lowered her eyes to the statues and paintings dotting the walls. There were small round tables against the walls beneath the paintings where guests could stand to rest their goblets. Leliana had asked for a word, but Philippa did not see her in the ballroom, so she headed for the vestibule. There had been a lot of artwork and finery that Philippa fully intended to get a look at when they had entered. Just outside the ballroom, Leliana smiled at her. "Good. I was hoping I would catch you." Philippa properly took Leliana's arm and led her to one of the lounge chairs lined along each wall. They were made of fine leather dyed cream and edged in gold. Leliana sat on the edge of one and asked. "What did the Duke say?"

"He points the finger at Ambassador Briala," Philippa revealed.

Leliana nodded, her lips narrow in thought. "The Ambassador is up to something, but she can't be our main focus. The best place to strike at Celene is from her side." Immediately, Floriannne came to mind, but Philippa pushed down her suspicion as Leliana continued. "Empress Celene is fascinated by mysticism... foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish..." she flapped her hand and rolled her eyes. "She has an 'occult advisor'. An apostate who charmed the Empress and key members of the court as if by magic. I've had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and capable of anything."

Philippa nodded. "That sounds exactly like the person we're looking for."

"She's worth investigating. Can't be sure of anything here. Both leads point toward the guest wing. It's a promising place to start. I'll coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better. I will be in the ballroom if you need me." Leliana stood and with a smile headed back for the ballroom. Philippa knew that heading directly for the guest wing would look a bit suspicious, so she made herself look busy, doing a circuit of the vestibule and it's beautiful art pieces before slipping into the gallery that Yvette had recommended. She ran into Cassandra along the way, pausing to speak with the uncomfortable Seeker.

"This ball is a waste of time, like all Orlesian foolishness," Cassandra barked with a sneer. "Let's find the Venatori collaborator and get out of here."

"Has anything happened that's worth mentioning?" Philippa wondered, knowing Cassandra had her eye on everything just like Cullen.

Cassandra shook her head curtly. "Nothing yet, I will let you know."

"You don't seem to care much for the ball," Philippa stated the obvious, earning a disgusted noise from Cassandra.

"Orlesians pretend their petty squabbles are a 'Game'. Yes, let us treat murder, corruption, and deceit as delightful amusements," Cassandra said sarcastically. "How wonderful. We are here to save Empress Celene, and it galls me. Why does she merit our protection? The empire would be better off without her. Gaspard is the leader Orlais needs in this crisis."

"You support the civil war?" Philippa gasped with a frown.

Cassandra shook her head. "Of course not. Chaos is what Corypheus wants, and we must oppose him. Were it up to me, however, I would let Celene fall and Gaspard take the throne. He would see the true threat, not spend his time throwing balls and writing letters."

"Stay alert," Philippa said, storing Cassandra's opinion. "We don't know where the enemy is hiding."

"I'll be watching for trouble," Cassandra agreed. "The sooner we leave this place, the better."

The hall leading further into the guest wing had two grand statues in the middle of the walkway to her right, there was a set of stairs leading down into another section where more statues of marble and gold lined the wall. She took the stairs down and perused the art, her ears open as they had been in the gardens. She overheard a pair of servants whispering about a package in the upper room above the garden statuette. She stored the information and headed back up the opposite stairs to move further into the next hall. More guests milled about, gathered around more loungers and tables placed in the middle of the wide hall. It was the perfect place to disappear and listen for some gossip.

A few more clues around the hall told her about disappearances of servants in the guest wing. She needed to get in there. She headed for the door that would take her to the garden outside and when she stepped through, she recognized a familiar strumming lute and saw Maryden briefly before she was blocked by a row of three women dressed identically. "My lady! My lady Inquisitor!" One of them said, hailing her.

“May we have a word? It is very important,” one of the others said.

It was like watching an open melee at a tourney. They switched back and forth between each other as they spoke, making it hard to keep track of which one was speaking at any given time. “The Empress has sent us with a message for you.”

“I'm always honored to hear from her majesty,” Philippa said with a diplomatic smile.

“Oh! She is the honored one, Inquisitor.”

“Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in her holy endeavor.”

“She will pledge her full support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated.”

“Let me guess,” Philippa said with a sigh. “All she wants in return is for me to help her defeat the Duke...”

“Oh! This is not meant as a bargain, by any means, Inquisitor.”

“The support of the Empress is not conditional. It will be yours once the negotiations are concluded.”

“The Empress is the most skilled diplomat in Thedas. Gaspard is hopelessly out of his depth.”

“But we have taken enough of your time.”

“Please, enjoy the Masquerade, Inquisitor.”

They left with another bow and Philippa hoped her head hadn't swiveled too comically as she'd tried to listen. A most welcome sight stood in the middle of the garden, sipping from a wine glass. When he saw her, he grinned, genuinely happy to see her. “This is all so familiar!” Dorian said, taking her hand and twirling her around so her skirt flared out around her legs as she approached. “I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners!” He chuckled.

“I can almost picture a party in the Magisterium... Pointed hoods, slit wrists, and an elegant chant to dance to," she giggled mockingly, falling into the brief four-step he tugged her into.

“You could _almost_ mistake this for a soiree in the Imperium. The same double-dealing, elegant poison, canapes... It's lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic... But the night _is_ still young,” he said with a wink.

“What if your mother _were_ actually here? Where would we be then?” Philippa asked, nudging his shoulder.

He chuckled again. “Short one mage after he's dragged out by his earlobe.”

“ _That's_ something I find hard to picture,” she said with her own laugh.

“Picture me a young boy of five years, then. She certainly always has,” he took another sip of his drink.

“I appreciate that you were willing to come here,” she offered and his brow rose.

“And expose myself to all of this exquisite finery and exotic wines? Such hardship...”

She rolled her eyes. “Not everyone's likely to be friendly, that's all I meant.”

“It's true. You'd think I smelled of cabbages, the way they wrinkle their noses. It's of no concern, but thank you.” He smiled at her and then downed the rest of his drink.

“Have you noticed any entries into the guest wing that aren't guarded?” she asked, glancing around.

He shrugged. “You could always climb the trellis...” He had been joking, but she saw a tall white trellis behind him that indeed led to the upper balcony and a doorway inside. “Oh, no... Phil, I was not actually suggesting...” he sighed at the gleam in her eye.

“Do you think you could maybe create a small distraction so I can get up there?” she asked, squeezing his arm.

He groaned and deflated. “Anything for you, now let me know when you're ready.”

She thanked him and shuffled over to the bottom of the trellis. When she was there, she gathered her skirt in her fist and wiggled her fingers to him. Dorian lifted his arm and smashed the glass he had been drinking from on the ground. “I say, Minstrel! Could you possibly play something a bit less... Orlesian?”

He was faking drunk and doing a fine job of it. All eyes fell on him as he approached Maryden and recited several different titles to songs she had never heard of. Philippa didn't waste a second. She jammed her foot into one of the small diamond shaped holes and scurried quickly up the trellis. Hoping no one saw, she climbed up over the rail and onto the balcony. She couldn't be gone long or people would miss her. She started toward the main door, but there was a trail of blood that led off to the left. It led her to a door much like the one she'd encountered outside in the entry garden. She hurried over and saw only one open hollow, yet again. She reached up and ran her fingers over the bottom and felt a mechanism. She grinned and pulled the Halla statuette from where she had stuffed it and slipped it in the groove. It fit like a glove and the door clicked open. Inside she was greeted with the smell of early decay. She put a hand up to her nose and moved inside the tiny closet. There was a body of a man. She knelt, careful of her skirts, plucked through his clothes and found a letter to Celene from Gaspard mentioning a weapon that Briala had that could turn the tide of every war. Philippa had no idea what the weapon might be, so she took the letter and made her way back to the door into the library.

Inside the Library, she was assaulted by the call of magic from behind a wall. She closed her eyes and allowed the magic to draw her in. There had to be a hidden mechanism. She stepped to her left and began fiddling with the books on the shelves. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled one of the books and something clicked. The wall depressed and slid to the side, allowing her access. On the desk that was surrounded by many different magical artifacts, Philippa found a letter from Celene to a 'Lady M' asking her to be at her side for the ball to protect her from any magical assault that Gaspard might use against her, as well as mentioning the royal wing and some 'unpleasantness'. Philippa had heard that the royal wing was sealed. Interesting.

Philippa knew that the court enchanter that Celene referred to was Vivienne, but Celene seemed to trust this 'Lady M' that the note referred to. There was no way that the Empress was so gullible to trust an apostate unless blood magic was involved. It would take someone of great skill and finesse to get in so close to the Empress by using blood magic. Something else was in play here. What unpleasantness in the royal wing? Philippa had a slew of other questions flipping through her brain when she jumped as the bell signaling the start of something in the ball room rang loudly throughout the library. She swiftly slipped from the hidden room, pushing the shelf back into place and hurried through the rest of the vast library, hoping that the doors might be unlocked from this side. There was no way she would be able to drop back in from the trellis without being seen.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the handle clicked and the door to the vestibule opened, freeing her from the libraries. She was also a little bit saddened that she hadn't had more time to take in the Empress' collection. While Skyhold's library was far from small, it had nothing on the Winter Palace. Straightening her dress, she calmed her rushed demeanor and fixed her smile back into place. Most of the guests were headed toward the ball room, but before she could follow, from behind her an impossible voice spoke up.

It was deep and husky and Philippa could feel power moving toward her. “Well, well, what have we here?” When Philippa turned to face the voice, she was taken aback by the beauty of the woman. She was pale of skin and her hair was black like the wings of a raven, pulled to the back of her head and tucked in a messy bun, the front free to flow gently on the air as she walked. She wore an exquisitely elaborate gown that was mainly black to match her hair. The top above her corset was a deep maroon with a slightly darker leaf pattern. Her eye shadow matched the color perfectly. The sleeves reached down to her elbows and were cinched up on both sides to give them an inflated look. The dress' neckline reached low, but her modesty was kept by the wide golden chain and amulet that hung from her neck. “The leader of the new Inquisition. Fabled Herald of the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself.” Her words were both playful and sarcastic, letting Philippa know that she didn't believe a word of the rumors. She paused before Philippa, blinking her golden yellow irises in curiosity. “What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial court, I wonder? Do even you know?”

Philippa decided to handle this woman with either honesty or a bit of her own sarcasm. Anything else would likely turn her against Philippa and the Inquisition. “We may never know,” she said crossing her arms over her chest. “Courtly intrigues and all that.”

The woman's brow rose ever so slightly. If Philippa hadn't been studying the woman so closely, she might have missed it. “Such intrigues obscure much. But not all.” She dipped her head slightly and a half smile pulled at her painted lips. “I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane. You... have been very busy this evening, hunting in every dark corner of the palace.” Morrigan knew she had been in her office. “Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?”

“I don't know, do we?” Philippa asked. Leliana had spoken ill of this woman, but so far, Philippa was intrigued.

Morrigan's laugh was truly amused and it rang like a bell. “You are being coy.”

“I'm being careful,” Philippa corrected.

“Not unwise, here of all places. Allow me to speak first then. Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls. An agent of Tevinter. So I offer you this, Inquisitor. A key found on the Tevinter's body.” She passed a simple key to Philippa who in turn slipped it in her coat with the letters she'd collected. “Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can.”

Philippa decided to throw Morrigan a bone, since she had trusted her with the key. “Briala's people are whispering about disappearances in the servant's quarters. This key may lead there.”

“The Ambassador does have eyes and ears everywhere, does she not? Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them aligned with Tevinter. What comes next will be most exciting.” Morrigan left her to enter the ballroom and likely return to Celene with a grin to match her words.

Philippa followed not far behind, still needing to talk with Leliana. She found her not far from where Cullen was standing, still surrounded by his fan club. He was looking increasingly agitated. Leliana was watching with amusement as she sipped on a drink. Once Philippa had explained everything she had found, Leliana called over one of her people and whispered in his ear. He saluted and then disappeared. “Go and speak with Briala and the Empress' ladies in waiting. By the time you've finished, the rest of your party will be waiting by the servants' quarters with your weapons in case there is trouble.

Philippa got a few interesting tidbits from Briala and the triplets, and then she made her way back out of the ballroom and toward the servants' quarters. Sure enough, the others were standing discreetly by the door and their weapons were tucked in a corner behind a tapestry. “I don't have much time before I'm missed. Let's go,” she said after the key successfully turned the lock and the door clicked open.

On the opposite side of the door, she stopped the others to gather the fabric of her dress from behind her. Then she tucked it between her legs beneath the front and separated it into halves to tie around her waist, officially taking her skirts out of the way of her footwork. The velvety fabric would not wrinkle and she could move easily. She felt much safer with her staff in her hands as they descended the dark stairway. It spilled them in a small storage room off the kitchen. There were at least three bodies strewn around and Philippa carefully stepped over them as she pushed forward. “These must be the missing elves Briala's people were worried about. Ah, shit,” Varric grunted quietly. As they found their way out of the kitchens, Philippa spotted another of the Halla statuettes. Taking it along in case she needed it, they left. Outside, they were in a large garden full of arched trellises that intersected to form a small maze. Philippa navigated as quickly as she could and in the center. They came upon a corpse. Philippa knelt by the fountain to examine the body. “This was no servant. What was he doing here?”

Philippa picked up the dagger lying next to the body. “Is that the Chalons family crest?” Dorian gasped. “What have you been up to, Gaspard?”

“Time to have a word with the Duke,” Philippa sighed.

Just as she was about to stand, a woman's screams pierced the quiet. She shot up and an elven servant came running from the opposite direction from which they had entered. Before she could react, the woman was dead, stabbed from behind. The killer looked very much like one of the Tevinter assassins called the Harlequin. Obviously a woman, she wore a mask and every bit of her skin was covered. She dropped a smoke bomb and disappeared, only to reappear moments later on the balcony three stories up. Philippa couldn't take a second to worry about the assassin as Venatori agents swarmed them. With two mages working in calculated cooperation, and Cassandra nullifying the Venatori magic, the enemy didn't stand a chance. Once they were down, Philippa and the others moved to find the entrance to the wing where the assassin had disappeared.

They fought through the Venatori that littered the building and slowly made their way up to the third floor. Again, the enemy fell quickly and Philippa charged a spell to take out the one that was trying to escape. She had no need for it however, because the runner fell to a knife through the eye. “Fancy meeting you here,” Briala said calmly as she appeared from the doorway. She stalked down the hallway toward them and ran her hand over the marble of the base of a statue near the balcony. “Shouldn't you be dancing, Inquisitor? What will the Nobility say?”

“No doubt there's a line of people breathlessly waiting for dances with me,” Philippa said with a roll of her eyes, wondering what Briala's game might be.

“I wouldn't be surprised if there was... You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you've beaten me to it. So, the Council of Herald's Emissary in the courtyard... That's not your work is it?”

“He was dead when I arrived,” Philippa agreed, following Briala out onto the balcony.

“I expected as much. You may have arrived with the Grand Duke, but you don't seem to be doing his dirty work... I knew he was smuggling Chevaliers, but killing a Council Emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight.”

“I'm not convinced of Gaspard's guilt. He seemed a bit too... easy going... to be envisioning Celene's head on a platter for the main course tonight,” Philippa said with a frown as Briala's large eyes glared at her, her arms crossed.

“Don't let his charm blind you. He's Orlesian. That smile is his mask. I misjudged you Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it,” Briala suggested with a grin.

“You know how to make a sales pitch Ambassador, I'll give you that,” Philippa smirked.

“I do, don't I?” Briala said unfolding her arms. “I know which way the wind is blowing. I'd bet coin you'll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happened to lean a little bit our way? It... could prove advantageous to us both. Just a thought.”

With that, Briala hopped down from the balcony to the waiting gardens below. Varric chuckled wildly. “Every single major player has tried to bribe you tonight. In Orlais that means you've officially arrived.”

“So much conniving and backstabbing here. It makes me homesick,” Dorian commented wistfully.

They made their way back to the exit where an Inquisition soldier waited to take their weapons. Dorian checked her over to be certain she was still 'perfect' after she untied the bow she had made of her skirts and then allowed her to make her way back to the ballroom. She passed by Gaspard's trophy room, but there was a group of guards standing outside it. She thought she might find something in there so she introduced herself and after understanding their interest in her, she shamefully sent them to Cullen for a full recounting of the battle at Haven. Then she snuck in the room and shuffled through some documents and collected troop movements inside the castle.

She quickly snuck back out and heard the second bell. She hurried to the ballroom and as soon as she stepped inside, she was blocked by the Grand Duchess. “Inquisitor Hawke? We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne De Chalons. Welcome to my party.” She gave another short curtsy as she had before.

“How can I be of service, Your Grace?” Philippa asked politely while her evidence burned holes in her pockets.

She offered Philippa a soft smile that Philippa didn't think was genuine for a second. “I believe tonight you and I are both concerned by the actions of... a certain person.” She backed away then turned towards the dance floor, her smile turning coy. “Come. Dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

“Very well,” Philippa accepted graciously, expecting a knife in the side midway through the dance. “Shall we dance, Your Grace?”

Philippa bowed, her hand extended. Florianne took it and Philippa swept her into the rest of the dancers. Florianne wasted no time in beginning her own dance of words as they stepped forward, arms outstretched on both sides, only their hands touching between them. While he had been teaching her, Dorian had complained constantly about her stepping on his toes because she had always tried to lead. She smiled softly as her instincts took over and she took on the role traditionally held by the male of the pair. A few steps in, Florianne smiled over at her. “You are from the Free Marches, are you not? How much do you know about our little war?”

Philippa knew Florianne was fishing and she was going to give her nothing, not even bothering to correct her on her lineage. She could play the Game at least that well, if not better. “This war is so loud I think they've even heard about it in the Anderfels. Orlais affects every other nation.”

“Perhaps it does,” the Duchess conceded. “I should not be surprised to find the Empire in the center of everyone's world. It took great effort to arrange tonight's negotiations. Yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall.”

They turned to face each other, crossing their arms in front of them and then pushing them back out in a flourish before bowing briefly to each other. "Is that so, lady Florianne?" With outstretched arms, they crossed their legs and twisted their hips, touching the fingertips together of first their left and then their right hands.

When they repeated the move Florianne said, "I hope we are of one mind on this."

When their right hands touched the second time, Florianne came out of her position and Philippa twirled her around in front of her so when the move ended, Florianne's back was to her. "I've learned that you need to be especially discerning in troubled times when deciding who is friend or foe, Don't you agree, Your Grace?"

They took two steps forward and Florianne spun to face Philippa who took her left hand in hers, holding it aloft and rested her right hand on the Duchess' waist. They fell into a fourstep, spinning at the same time. "I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard. And have been everywhere in the Palace... You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor... and a matter of concern to some."

"Which exactly am I to you, Your Grace?" Philippa was treading carefully, asking a lot of questions, but giving very few answers as they twirled relentlessly, making her mildly dizzy as the dance floor blurred past. She focused on Florianne as she responded.

"A little of both, actually. This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?"

"An excellent question." Philippa was beginning to get the feeling that Florianne was on the foe side of that list, but said nothing. "I might ask the same of you, Your Grace."

Florianne turned out of her embrace, beneath her left arm, their arms outstretching again before she crossed in front of Philippa. Philippa tucked her right arm beneath the Duchess' right arm that still held her left and the back of her hand rested on Florianne's hip. They spun again three times before she pulled in her arm and Florianne was brought before her again and they fell into the spinning four-step. "In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone," Florianne remarked. "It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight."

 _Yes, like you._ “I thought 'dangerous machinations' were the National Sport in Orlais,” Philippa said with a chuckle. The dance floor had cleared and she and Florianne were alone in their dance. Philippa took advantage of the spectacle they had become to slip her footing around Florianne's and trip the Duchess into a deep dip. The crowd applauded as Florianne looked up at her with surprise as she pulled her back to her feet.

"You have little time," Florianne warned as they finished off the dance as they had started it, arms outstretched on either side. But this time, Florianne's forearm rested atop Philippa's instead of just their hands touching. "The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing Garden, you will find the captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard's secrets. I'm sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming."

Philippa and Florianne bowed to each other as the music stopped. "I'm excited to see how this night turns out." Philippa left the dance floor before anyone had the chance to pull her into another dance. She needed to regain her equilibrium.

So far, all of her evidence was pointing toward Gaspard, but that one conversation with his sister had made Philippa think that her 'evidence' might not be as clear cut as she thought. As she moved off the dance floor, Josephine caught up with her laughing with pride. “You'll be the talk of the court for months! We should take you dancing more often.”

“I'd happily do more dancing... just not with Corypheus,” Philippa joked as her other two advisors approached.

“I promise not to invite him to your next ball,” Josie said with a smile.

“Were you dancing with Duchess Florianne?” Leliana asked with curiosity. Philippa had turned down every other dance offer she had received all night, concerned her skills would make a laughing stock of the Inquisition.

Cullen scoffed and said, “More importantly, what happened in the servants' quarters. I heard there was fighting.” His eyes made a tour of her body, making certain she was unharmed before smiling guardedly. He had already gaped at her for nearly half an hour after Josie had done her up that morning, before regaining his senses. It was nice to feel his eyes on her, admiring her curves with lust as they held a completely civil conversation amidst the others.

“I hope you have good news,” Josephine sighed, her smile faltering. “It appears the peace talks are crumbling.”

“The Grand Duchess is trying to pin everything on Gaspard, but I think she's covering her own ass,” Philippa informed them. "She's awfully suspicious."

Leliana frowned. “Florianne and her brother are thick as thieves, but she would give him up in an instant to save herself.”

“Then... the attack on the Empress _will_ happen tonight,” Cullen said, his arms dropping from where he'd crossed them over his chest, and his eyes refocusing on the task at hand.

“Warning Celene is pointless,” Josie pointed out as if she was repeating herself for the hundredth time. “She needs these talks to succeed. And to flee would admit defeat.”

“Then perhaps we should let her die,” Leliana said coldly.

Philippa felt her composure slip. “I don't know if I'm comfortable just letting Celene die. That feels a lot like treason,” she said through gritted teeth, attempting to reign in her anger.

“Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor. What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen,” Leliana explained. “To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone_ must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn't need to be Celene, she's right,” Cullen said, scratching his chin nervously and balking when Philippa set a glare on him.

“Do you realize what you're suggesting, Leliana?” Josephine sounded as stunned as Philippa was.

“Sometimes, the best path is not the easiest one,” Leliana insisted.

“You're asking _me_ to decide what's best for Orlais?” Philippa asked her arms crossing in front of her as she silently screamed her displeasure. "Since when do I have that right?"

“More than that,” Cullen said softly. “Whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect all of Thedas.”

Leliana lifted a finger and pointed it at Philippa, not scolding, but emphasizing. “You cannot stop Corypheus without a decision. You must support someone, or all is lost.”

“Then we should support Celene!” Josie insisted. “She _is_ the rightful ruler. Why would we say otherwise?”

“Because she led Orlais to this point,” Cullen reminded her dryly. “I say Gaspard, provided his sister is wrong about him.”

“ _I_ would suggest Briala,” Leliana interrupted. “She could bring true peace, not only to the Empire, but also to it's Elves.”

“This is however, _your_ decision, Inquisitor. Not ours,” Josephine said gently.

Philippa held out a hand to pause the debate. “I can't decide this. Not yet.”

“You must!” Leliana barked. “Even inaction is a decision, Inquisitor.”

“You could speak to Celene in the ballroom, but she won't act. Not without proof,” Josie sighed.

Cullen grunted. “If Gaspard is guilty, he'll admit nothing. If he's innocent, he knows nothing. We need the truth.”

“What did Duchess Florianne tell you?” Leliana asked cautiously.

“She said Gaspard's mercenary Captain is in the Royal Wing. That he knows about the assassination,” Philippa revealed, rubbing her forehead in frustration.

“Which could be a trap,” Cullen spat.

“Or a lead,” Josie countered. “Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues.”

“Then get me access, and in the meantime, get your soldiers into position,” Philippa ordered, more than ready for the night to be over.

“At once,” Cullen said. His face shifted to worry. “Be careful, Phil.”

"You know I can handle myself, Commander," she said teasingly.

He smiled sweetly. "Tell that to my nerves every time you ride off from Skyhold."

With a short smile, she nodded and they all separated to prepare. To give them time to do their jobs, she circled the ball room again, and them went back to the gallery. Past the gardens where she had done her disappearing act, she found a door that led down to a second floor where pipe smoke was thick on the air. She was shocked to find Varric down there, looking less than amused with the crowd he had gathered. It reminded her of Cullen's starry eyed gaggle of admirers. She approached him and pulled him to the side. "Having fun, Charmer? I always enjoy canapes while surrounded by people who want to kill me."

"I should be asking you," she laughed lightly.

He grumbled, crossing his arms. "My brother used to throw galas like this in Kirkwall. I always tried to avoid them. I'm not much of a dancer these days."

"You have plenty of admirers," she pointed out.

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't know my books sold so well in Orlais. I'm going to have a chat with my publisher."

"We can chat later. Now, I think I can rescue you for a mission into the Royal Wing," she offered.

"Anything's better than here," he nodded, following her back up toward the rendezvous point.

Once again, Leliana had someone gather the others and discreetly hide their weapons near the Royal Wing. The lock had already been picked to allow them access and Philippa slipped in with the others on her heels. She again folded up her skirts, and Varric was chuckling as they climbed a short staircase. “Are we going to sneak around to look through the Empress' unmentionables, now? Just how drunk are you, Charmer?”

She couldn't help her laughter joining his as they passed down a hallway. "Give me a few more drinks and I might even try them on," she joked, making Dorian let out one of his patented barks of laughter. To her left, she noticed another of the Halla doors. There were six empty hollows surrounding this door. No wonder she had been finding the things everywhere. With only four in Varric's pocket that she had picked up in the servant's quarters, she had to ignore the muffled voice calling from inside. Hopefully she would find a few more before they had to move on. Directly ahead of them was another door and Philippa was going to ignore it since it was not locked or guarded. Not likely anything important in there. Suddenly, the muffed voice from the Halla door was overshadowed by a piercing scream. Philippa took off, running for the unguarded door. She wrenched it open and saw another of the Harlequin assassins standing over a young elven woman who was cowering on the floor. Behind the assassin was an open window and Philippa quickly flung a force spell that picked up the assassin and chucked her out the window. The assassin screamed as she fell and Philippa knelt beside the elf. “Thank you,” the elf said breathlessly.

Philippa smiled and offered her a hand up. “I hope you're not disappointed I stole your dance partner.”

The woman's laugh was nervous as she stood. “No, not at all. No one's supposed to be here... Briala said... I shouldn't have trusted her.” The woman rubbed her shoulder as if it was paining her.

“For a closed wing, this place seems to be more popular than the ballroom,” Philippa said with a sigh.

The elf scoffed. “Briala probably knew it was dangerous and sent me anyway. One more embarrassing secret erased... I knew her. Before. When she was Celene's pet. Now she wants to play revolution, but I remember. She was sleeping with the Empress who purged our Alienage.”

“Something like that could destroy Briala,” Philippa said, stepping back to think. “If it were known.”

“No. Some know she has... a history... with the Empress. But they believe she was just a favored servant. If... If the Inquisition will protect me, I'll tell you everything I know about our 'Ambassador',” the woman offered.

Dorian huffed. “Most Orlesians would say that was Celene's scandal, not Briala's.”

Philippa nodded. Either way, it was something. “Go to the ballroom. Find Commander Cullen. He'll keep you safe.”

“Thank you,” the woman said again. “Maker protect you, Inquisitor.” She took off quickly and as Philippa watched her go, she spotted another Halla statuette.

As she picked it up, Varric frowned. “What is with you and those things?”

“They're useful. Trust me,” Philippa said, handing it off to him before leaving the room. After a quick peek in the room across the hall, they found another statue and Philippa led them back to the door that had the muffled voice still calling out.

She carefully placed each statue and the door clicked open just as the one on the balcony outside the library had. She smiled and shrugged at Varric who was nodding his understanding. She pushed the door open and realized by the sheer amount of ponce that filled the room that this had to be the Empress' private quarters. She bypassed all of the décor to climb the four steps that led to the living area that housed a overly ornate bed. Philippa couldn't help but think that one decoration in particular did not belong. She walked up and stood beside the bed, forcing her eyes to the man's face as she crossed her arms and smirked. “Well, this is awkward...”

“It's not what it looks like.” The man shook his head, the helmet there twisting to slip over one eye. “Honestly, I would have preferred if it were what it looks like. The Empress led me to believe I would be... rewarded for betraying the Grand Duke. This... was not what I hoped for.”

Philippa's eyes flicked downwards over the trussed up man lying naked and bound on the Empress' bed. When her eyes returned to the man's face she said, “I can imagine what you thought your reward would be.”

“Please! I beg you! Don't tell Gaspard,” the man sobbed. “The Empress beguiled me into giving her information about... plans for troop movements in the Palace tonight. She knows everything! The Duke's surprise attack has been countered before it even began.” Philippa reached up and scratched her neck, wondering what she should do with this man. “She's turned it into a trap. The moment he strikes, she'll have him arrested for treason.”

“Oh, Orlesians,” Dorian said with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

Philippa smiled in amusement at the entire situation. “I'll protect you from Gaspard if you're willing to testify about Celene's trap.”

“I'll do anything! Anything!” he agreed eagerly. Philippa knelt and called her magic to burn through the ropes that held him to the bed. Once he was free, he grabbed up his clothes and fled.

Varric sighed. “Well, that was... Orlesian.”

"Well, Varric. The only unmentionables the Empress had were slightly more revealing than I'd expected," she chuckled.

"I don't think Curly would have liked you trying them on, either," he said with his own chuckle.

Philippa was slowly forming a plan in her mind, granted that she was right about Florianne. They found their way thorough the maze of the Royal Wing to where the gardens were. Again, there was a raised voice coming from behind a door. “You painted Orlesian, arseholes! When I get out of this, I'll butcher you like the pigs you are!”

Philippa hurried to push open the door and see what all of the fuss was about, feeling a tug on her hand. As soon as she entered, her hand reacted. There was a rift nearby. She swung the glowing mark behind her back and entered. Obviously the rift was not active given the collection of soldiers around the garden. She scanned the room and saw Florianne above on a balcony flanked by a number of archers and guards. Below, a man dressed in mercenary garb was tied to a stake in the ground. In between it all, the closed rift hovered, invisible to all but her as her palm tingled. “Inquisitor! What a pleasure! I wasn't certain you'd attend,” Florianne said with delight. “You're such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you'd taken my bait.”

“I fear I'm a bit busy at the moment, if you were looking for a dance partner,” Philippa retorted.

“Yes, I see that,” Florianne said, her lip curling at Philippa's obvious aloofness. “Such a pity you did not save one final dance for me. It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling. Corypheus insisted the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.”

Philippa snapped her eyes from the inactive rift and grinned. "If he's not used to me getting in the way, yet, he must not have a firm grip on reality... Oh, right... He's insane. Nevermind."

"You poor, deluded thing," Florianne mocked. "You don't know half of what Samson and I have planned. And now, I suppose you never will. In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I would assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you'll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They'll be talking of it for years." Florianne started to walk away. "Kill her. Bring the marked hand as proof. It will make a fine gift for the master."

Florianne turned and hurried out of the garden, a few of her guards in tow. The archers took aim and Philippa quickly tried to get out of the way as soon as she heard them release. One grazed her arm as she lifted the mark and ripped open the rift. Her companions surrounded her as demons poured from the rift to attack both them and Florianne's people, and make her head begin to throb in discomfort. She and her companions were used to fighting demons and while the Duchess' men were slaughtered, they protected the tied up man and fought off the demons. Philippa waited for a break in the demons and finally reached up to seal the rift for good. Dorian untied the confused mercenary as Philippa used a small bit of mana to close over the graze wound from the arrow, mourning the sleeve of the dress.

“Andraste's tits, what was all that?” the man asked, rubbing his wrists. “Were those demons? There aren't any more blasted demons coming, right?”

“Good eye. Those were definitely demons,” Philippa hissed as the wound knitted closed and her head continued to throb.

“Maker bless me! Demons? How could there be demons in the fucking Winter Palace? I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn't think he'd feed me to fucking horrors over a damned bill.”

“Duke Gaspard was the one who called you out here?” Philippa asked to clarify, crossing her arms.

The man shuffled his feet. “Well, his sister, but it had to come from him, didn't it? All that garbage she was spewing doesn't mean anything. Gaspard had to be the mastermind...”

“You honestly believe you were captured, tied up, and thrown into a death trap... because of a bill?” Philippa asked with a raised brow.

He shrugged. “When you put it like that, it seems a bit odd. The Duke wanted to move on the palace tonight, but he didn't have enough fancy Chevaliers. So he hired me and my men. He had to offer us triple our usual pay to come to Orlais. Stinking poncy cheesemongers...”

Philippa resisted the urge to chuckle. “I happen to know of an organization looking for qualified talent. If you're good enough for the Duke, you're certainly good enough for the Inquisition. And we likely pay better.” She shrugged.

“You hiring? I'm game. Anything's better than this bullshit. You want me to talk to the Empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song in the Chantry, I'll do it.” He moved off, cursing.

“We need to get back to the ballroom before Florianne murders Celene,” Philippa said, taking off at a jog.

Her people followed behind, and they practically ran back to the ballroom. When they found an entrance, Philippa paused to catch her breath and undo her dress, then calmly pushed her way inside. Cullen was on her almost immediately. As he fussed as best he could without touching her, she scanned the room, both listening to him and searching for Florianne. “Thank the Maker you're back! The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?”

She patted his arm as she noticed the royalty and nobles gathering. “Nothing. I'm going to have a word with the Grand Duchess of double-cross.”

He frowned. “What? There's no time! The Empress will begin her speech any moment!” he hissed as she handed her staff to him and adjusted her clothes.

“Trust me,” she whispered. Her plan was in place. If she could help it, no one else would die that night. She straightened her shoulders and marched proudly across the dance floor to approach the landing where she had first greeted the Empress. Florianne, Briala and Gaspard were gathered there and above Celene stood regally, awaiting the court's quiet. Philippa stepped boldly forward and pitched her own voice for all to hear. “I've changed my mind, Your Grace. I think I'll grant you that final dance after all.”

Florianne's posture tensed before she turned to see Philippa standing below, her hands clasped behind her back. “Inquisitor.”

Philippa ascended the stairs as Briala and Gaspard backed off, leaving Florianne alone in the middle of the landing. “The eyes of every noble in the empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile,” she taunted, as the whispering and gasping at the scandal fell to a dull roar. “We're all here for you. Let's not disappoint the court.”

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” Florianne said, her voice wavering as she backed away from Philippa who continued to approach her.

“I seem to recall you saying, 'All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike'.” Florianne tried to play innocent, but her eyes were flicking in all directions, hunting for an escape. Philippa began to circle her like a shark after blood. “When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn't save me this last dance. It's so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council Emissary.” Gaspard shook his head in anger as the truth was revealed. “It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds... all your enemies under one roof.”

“This is very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?” Florianne asked, her voice still uncertain.

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin,” Celene added, her own frown evident even with the mask.

“Gaspard?” Florianne pleaded to her brother next. “You cannot believe this! You know I would never...” Before she could finish, he dismissively waved his hand and turned with Briala to ascend the stairs and join Celene. “Gaspard?!” Florianne was now backing up from the two chevaliers that were coming towards her.

“You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You're just the last to find out,” Philippa said, waving her hand for the chevaliers to seize the now sobbing Duchess as she fell to her knees. Once she had been dragged off, Philippa glanced up at the Empress. “Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private, elsewhere.”

The Empress nodded softly and Philippa followed the three contenders for the throne onto the Empress' private balcony where they had held the peace talks. Briala was the first to speak, even before they reached the door. “Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard!”

“You're the spymaster,” he retorted. “If anyone knew this atrocity was coming, it was you.”

“You don't deny your involvement.” Briala pointed out.

“I do deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne's plans! But you... you knew it all and did nothing,” he accused. Philippa began to pace back and forth between them, her hands clasped behind her back, listening to the accusations flying.

Briala snorted and crossed her arms. “I don't know which is better. That you think I'm all-seeing or that you're trying so hard to play innocent and failing.”

“Enough,” Celene inserted herself. “We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation! For the safety of the empire, I will have answers!”

Philippa stepped further into the circle they had formed. “I have enough dirt on _all_ of you to prove that everything that happened tonight is a combination of the three of you trying to stab each other in the back.”

“That's a bold claim, Inquisitor,” Celene said, her eyes narrowing. “Are you prepared to defend it?”

Philippa took a deep breath. The evidence was on her side. All she needed to do was mold them to her will. “Gaspard brought hired mercenaries into the palace for a coup. I have the word of his Captain.”

“Oh, Gaspard,” Briala scolded. “So predictable. Brutality is your only talent.”

“You don't hold the moral high ground, Briala. You _did_ murder Ambassadors and forge documents...” Philippa reminded her.

“So what if I did? Take me down, and elves will riot in every city in the Empire,” she threatened.

“They won't.” Philippa had confidence. “Not when they learn you were sleeping with the woman who purged Halamshiral's Alienage...” Then her eyes turned on the Empress. “And Celene knew of Gaspard's coup and let it go far enough to hang him for treason.”

“You've made your point,” Celene said in defeat. “What do you want?”

“If you don't want your dirty secrets revealed, you'll all do as I say and _work together_ ,” Philippa demanded, feeling dirty even as she suggested it. But at least everyone was still alive.

“You realize this can only end in disaster!” Briala said with shock. They each glanced at each other, realizing that Philippa had outplayed them at their own Game. Finally, an agreement was reached and Celene moved to address the court. “I cannot believe you want to make a speech. This is foolish.”

“We have no choice,” Celene assured the elf. “The nobility requires an answer for what happened.”

“Unless you want to pretend the war was all a dream? That would go over well,” Gaspard said with a sarcastic grin. “No more dithering. We make the cut swift and clean. Kindest to all of us.”

As they walked into the ballroom, the entire court had gathered in a tight group on the dance floor. Celene allowed them a moment to cheer as she and Gaspard stood side by side, Briala hanging back in the shadows. “Lords and Ladies of the court, we are pleased to announce that an accord has been reached. Our cousin Gaspard will now hold a place of honor in our cabinet.”

As the crowd began to talk, Gaspard stepped forward. “Friends, we assembled are the leaders of the empire! We must set an example for all Thedas! We cannot be at war with each other while the Fade itself challenges our borders.”

Celene noticed Gaspard's subtle placing of himself ahead of her and silently moved to stand ahead of him. “We must stand united, or surely we will fall alone!”

Philippa took her chance to rile up the people against Corypheus. “Thedas is on the brink of calamity, but _together_ we can beat back the madness!” Her words seemed to echo between Gaspard and the Empress who in synchronicity moved back together to stand side by side. It was going to take some getting used to for them to be on the same page.

“We will heal our wounded country. A long road of reconstruction lies before us, but tonight, we celebrate the arrival of peace. Let the festivities commence!” Celene announced.

Among the cheers and general uproar, Philippa backed up and slipped from the ballroom onto one of the smaller side balconies. She breathed in a long, deep breath, glad that everything had been settled. She leaned on the rail and gazed out over the Palace grounds. The cool breeze of the night ruffled her hair and the stray strands tickled her nose, bringing the scent of lavender to her. The rip in her sleeve where the arrow had grazed her, flapped gently, reminding her how pissed Josie was going to be that she had ruined the dress.

She wasn't certain how long she stood there, her mind blank and her heart steady as she unwound from the mayhem, allowing her roaring headache to slow to a simple everyday migraine. It was long enough that when she felt the pull of another mage's magic and she straightened, her back was stiff. Morrigan approached her, the amulet at her neck shimmering in the moonlight. “The Orlesian Nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them? Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? 'Tis most fickle after all your efforts on their behalf.” She was grinning as she paused beside Philippa.

Philippa snorted. “I would have stayed, but the punch ran dry. Scandalous!”

Morrigan's laugh was short as she began to fiddle with the wrist of her glove on her left hand. “Indeed? Let us see if you take this piece of news as poorly... By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid... including mine. Congratulations.”

“I welcome the assistance, Morrigan,” Philippa said gratefully. Morrigan's help had been invaluable, so far.

“A most gracious response. I shall meet you at Skyhold,” Morrigan said with a short tip of her head before sauntering out.

Philippa went back to leaning on the rail, her back stiff and her palms flat. A familiar voice lessened the knot in her stomach. “There you are! Everyone's been looking for you.” He was sympathetic and concerned as he came to lean on her right. “Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you alright?”

She glanced at him, noticing the stray hair that had fallen out of his careful style to grace his forehead. She smiled sweetly and brushed it back into place with her fingers. “I'm just worn out. Tonight has been... very long.”

“For all of us,” he agreed. “I'm glad it's over.” He lifted his hand and began to slowly rub over her back. “I know it's foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.” She reached over and laid her own hand over the one he still had resting on the rail and squeezed it in gratitude. He was quiet for a moment as she lost herself in his touch. “I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask...” He pulled back, a grin lifting the side of his mouth as he bowed and offered her his hand. “May I have this dance, my Lady?”

A genuine smile quirked her lips. “What happened to, 'I'm not one for dancing'?” She asked, mocking his tone from before. She took his hand, he pulled her against him and they began to slowly move in a simple four step circle.

Her cheek rested on his chest, for once, his armor not blocking the gentle beating of his heart. She closed her eyes and listened as his voice rumbled through her. “For you, I'll try.” He was so comforting, so warm and relaxing that the evening began to catch up with her. She started at the sound of his voice speaking her name. His tone was light and teasing. “Phil, are you falling asleep?”

“No,” she insisted, pulling briefly away so she could glance at him, an embarrassed flush coming to her cheeks.

He chuckled and took her chin in his hand. “Let's get you out of here. When was the last good night's rest you've had?”

“Hmm... Before the Conclave?” she guessed with an amused grin.

His knuckles grazed her chin slowly as he studied her face. “You were brilliant in there, and if you don't mind me saying, you look exquisite,” he offered as his hand made it into her hair, his fingers brushing her bangs from her face. She leaned into his touch and he pulled her closer. Their lips brushed and an excited titter from the entrance to the balcony dragged them apart. They each took a step back, Philippa's reddening face turning towards the giggling. The woman stood with her fingers over her own lips. Philippa sighed as she recognized her. “Yvette!” Cullen growled and the girl took off.

“That was Josie's sister, right?” Philippa asked, her racing heart slowing.

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, thankfully. Perhaps we should keep a lower profile until we leave the Palace.”

She nodded her agreement, biting her lip. “I'm going to go find an escape route and try to get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Phil,” he said with a light sigh.


	38. A Favor for a Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa has just returned from the Winter Palace, but has no time to stop and relax before she is pulled from Skyhold again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a few days off from my usual Sunday posting because Saturday night I had to attend my brother's wake. Forgive my tardiness and enjoy the chapters!

When they returned to Skyhold, Philippa barely had the chance to bathe and change into some more comfortable clothes before there was something else causing an uproar on her doorstep. She was making her way down to see Cassandra to let her know that Leliana had managed to track down the missing Seekers when she spotted a Chantry cleric arguing with Josephine. “The matter is urgent, Lady Josephine!”

“I am well aware of that, Revered Mother,” Josie said, her most diplomatic stance stiffening her back.

“We will need them to return to Val Royeaux as soon as possible. There are ceremonies... ordinations! Maker's mercy.” The woman sounded exasperated.

“That's quite impossible at the moment. However, I will see to this matter as soon as possible,” Josephine attempted to calm the conversation to a more civil tone.

“My Lady Inquisitor!” the woman called having spotted her trying to turn and escape. Whatever the issue, she didn't want to be involved. She sighed and turned back around “Please, may I have a word with you?”

“It's just one crisis after another around here,” she said with a deep breath, descending the stairs to join them.

“I am sorry to place this burden on your shoulders, but you are the only one who can help,” the Mother insisted as Josie tried to cover a scowl. “With the political turmoil put to rest, our minds turn to a single question. The next Divine. We cannot answer it without the left and right hands of Divine Justinia V.”

Josephine sighed. “I have already told you, Revered Mother: Lady Leliana and Seeker Cassandra cannot be spared from their duties.”

“But surely with the support of the Empire, the Inquisition will not be harmed by the loss of just two souls?” the Mother pleaded.

“These aren't just any two people!” Philippa said in shock. “I may be Inquisitor, but they started the Inquisition. Their talents are invaluable.”

“For the sake of Thedas, we must ask you to make this sacrifice...”

Josephine intervened. “This will have to be settled later. The Inquisitor has only just returned and has important business to attend to. You must excuse us, Revered Mother.” The Mother glanced between the two of them with irritation before giving a curt bow and leaving. “Don't let them detract from your victory at Halamshiral. We've beaten his Wardens and stopped his intrigues. Soon, Corypheus will have no place to hide. Cullen is hoping to press our advantage. We'll plan our next attack when you're ready." Philippa accepted Josephine's praise and then continued on to where she had originally intended to go.

Cassandra was glaring intently at Mother Giselle when Philippa walked into the Armory. Mother Giselle glanced at Philippa and sighed. “Will you not consider it, Lady Cassandra? The Clerics are still sequestered. If no one steps forward, they will debate until...”

“And you think _I_ could make them agree?” Cassandra snapped with a swift shake of her head. In the act, she noticed Philippa approaching and continued. “I have heard enough for one day, Mother Giselle.”

“Talk to her, your Worship,” Mother Giselle asked of Philippa as she passed her to leave.

When she was gone, Philippa turned to face Cassandra with a smirk and crossed arms. “The fun never ends in Skyhold, does it?” She settled into her hips.

Cassandra was half glaring and half smirking herself. “ 'The Inquisitor was _hilarious_ ', That's what they'll say one day, you watch.” She sighed. “I assume you've heard that Leliana and I are both candidates to be the next Divine. Because of what happened at Halamshiral, of course. The Empire favors you, thus everyone close to you. So now the Chantry bandies our names about without even asking us first.”

“I don't understand how any of this is possible. I thought only priests could become Divine,” Philippa asked curiously.

“It's not without precedent,” Cassandra explained. “Amara the third was sister to the Emperor, and Galatea a commoner. Leliana and I were, at least, part of the Chantry hierarchy. It would be accepted.”

“Not that this has ever worked for me, but have you considered just saying no?” Philippa said with a shrug, knowing that was likely the farthest thing from Cassandra's mind.

The Seeker sighed and led her outside toward the practice dummies. “Surely, it was never meant to be like this. The Chantry, the Circle of Magi, the Templars... This cannot be what they intended when it all began.” She paused beneath a tree, using the shade to keep the sun from her eyes. “The Chantry should provide faith. _Hope_. Instead, it cannot veer from it's course, even in the face of certain death.”

“It's surprising to hear that coming from _your_ mouth,” Philippa said softly.

“Oh?” Cassandra asked, her eyebrows rising. “Am I not the same woman who declared the Inquisition against the Chantry's wishes? In all my years as a Seeker, I did what I was told. My faith demanded it. But now, my faith demands something else... that I see with better eyes.”

“Well, it's not like everything that has happened since the Breach hasn't been completely unforeseen,” Philippa reminded her sarcastically.

“I'm not so certain. I think this has been a long time coming... Did you know Varric is Andrastian? Oh, he blasphemes with every second breath, but deep down, he believes. His heart is virtuous. But he would never step foot in a Chantry. It should be the first place to which the virtuous turn. It needs to change. Perhaps I must be the one to change it.”

Philippa was now curious. She raised a brow questioningly. “What would you change about the Chantry?”

“The Circle of Magi has it's place, but it needs reform,” she said quickly. “Let the mages govern themselves, with our help. Let the Templars stand not as the jailers of mages, but as protectors of the innocent. We must be vigilant, but we must also be compassionate to all peoples of Thedas, human or no. _That_ is what I would change.”

“Something new for you to beat your head against until it works out?” Philippa asked teasingly, knowing that Cassandra would most definitely beat her head against any thing she set her mind to until it molded to her will.

“I've agreed to nothing yet,” she said with a sneer.

“And if you don't get a choice?” she asked.

“Then I will do whatever I can, for as long as I can.” She sighed. “I suppose I should not be so concerned. The Clerics speak my name for now, nothing more. For now, restoring order and stopping Corypheus remain our priority.”

"And investigating what happened to the Seekers," Philippa said with a smile, handing over the paper Leliana had passed to her. "We can leave when you're ready."

Cassandra glanced up at her with a wide eyed expression. "We've only just returned. I would leave now if I could, but we should allow the others a rest."

Philippa nodded and smiled. "Is the day after tomorrow suitable?"

"I... yes, Inquisitor," Cassandra agreed with excitement.

Philippa was signing her name to probably the billionth piece of parchment that day. She dropped her quill and pressed her fingers to her temples. She was beginning to realize why Cullen always looked so tired. When it wasn't your only job to do endless paperwork, the task became tedious and lengthy. He had handed most of the recruit training over to Rylen, but he still liked to get in there himself and be sure everything was running smoothly. She had wasted hours the previous day hovering out of view by the training ring, watching him work. There had been a lot of sweat and some shirtlessness involved on his part. Even though that had been distracting, she had told herself she was researching templar techniques so she could be better prepared to fight them. At least that is what she reported to a disbelieving Leliana when she was caught shamelessly biting her bottom lip raw.

She sighed and moved to pick the quill back up, flexing her fingers before she did so. She had left her door open so she could accept any excuse to escape the confines of the dark indoors. Before she reached the quill, soft footsteps drew her attention to the stairway. Josephine crested the landing and set her eyes on Philippa. “Hey, Josie. Did you need me for something?” She offered a warm smile.

The ambassador shuffled her feet and sighed. “I was actually hoping we might revisit the fact that you have yet to sit in judgment of any of our prisoners. The cells will soon reach capacity.”

Philippa pressed her lips together and folded her hands on top of her unfinished pile. “I'm not going to get out of this, am I?”

Josephine huffed. “I should think not, Inquisitor.”

Philippa sighed. “Fine. Make the preparations. I'll be down in an hour.”

She went back to her papers and then slowly shuffled her way downstairs to arrive at the throne on time. An audience had gathered and she felt awkward as she carefully stepped up to sit gently in the symbol of authority. She felt like she should have dressed for the occasion. Josephine was waiting patiently, clipboard in hand and as soon as Philippa's butt touched the padding of the seat, she cleared her throat. “You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as acknowledgment of your aid.” As Josie spoke, Alexius was brought forward, his hands bound and his head hung in defeat. She was suddenly sorry that she had waited so long. “The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination... on your own life, no less. Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former Magister as you see fit.”

Philippa's eyes scoured the broken man, wondering if he knew that his son had died. She glanced around the hall, realizing that she was likely supposed to say something now. Her eyes fell briefly on Dorian who nodded. “Remind me. What's the precedent for nearly ripping apart time at the seems?”

Alexius finally looked up with defiance, a sneer on his face. “I couldn't save my son. Do you think my fate matters to me?”

Philippa sat back in the throne, crossing her ankle over her knee and steepling her fingers, trying to seem aloof. Josephine spoke next. “Will you offer nothing more in your defense?”

“You've won nothing. The people you saved, the acclaim you've gathered... You will lose it all in the storm to come. Render your judgment, Inquisitor,” Alexius spat.

Philippa rose a single brow, an idea swirling into her mind that brought a smile to her face. “Your magic was theoretically _impossible_ , Alexius. I could use people like you.” She reached out with a scolding finger. “You sentence is to serve, under guard, as a researcher on all things magical for the Inquisition.”

Alexius sighed and Philippa's eyes fell on Dorian again who was smiling widely, appreciative of her leniency. “No execution? Very well.” Alexius was taken away and Josephine began to announce the next prisoner.

"Adamant's influence continues, Your Worship. I submit Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, who remains loyal to Corypheus. We found him alive, offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head. In more colorful terms." Erimond was brought in in chains, and shoved forward to stand in front of her throne. He looked at her with defiance and his smug expression reminded her of everything he had almost cost her. "To say nothing of justice you might personally require for what was suffered in the Fade."

"I nearly lost my brother to your scheming, and I'm struggling to understand how judging you will make up for anything that happened," Philippa growled, glaring at the mage.

"I recognize none of this proceeding. You have no authority to judge me," Erimond growled in return.

Philippa glanced at Josephine who shook her head. "On the contrary, many officials have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor on this matter."

"Because they fear," he grunted. "Not _just_ Corypheus, but Tevinter, rightful ruler of every piece of ground you've trod in your pathetic life. I served a living god. Bring down your blades and free me from the physical. Glory awaits me."

Philippa grinned in victory. "You ask for death too quickly. Since you want it so badly, I'm inclined to deny it. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, you'll spend the rest of your days in the deepest darkest hole we can find."

He looked up at her with a glare. "We shall see which of us outlives our legacy, Inquisitor."

As Erimond was taken away, a woman dressed in the armor of a Warden was brought before her. Josephine cleared her throat and sighed. "Another of the lingering pains of Adamant, Your Worship. Ser Ruth is a senior Warden of the Order. She was one of the many who slit the throat of another to bind a demon. She does not contest this. In fact, she surrendered to us. She requests no mercy. She wants the public justice of the headman's ax."

Philippa tipped her head in confusion. "Exactly why is it you decided to ask for death?"

The dark haired woman stepped forward, revealing just how young she was. "There is no excuse for my actions. I murdered another of the Order. That blood marks me more than the Blight ever could."

Josephine spoke up. "Excepting their actions while thralls of Corypheus, many treaties allow Wardens any extreme, if it opposes the Blight."

Ser Ruth hung her head. "I can't do it! I can't use the greater good to justify my crimes, as if it would create a future I could be a part of! It is wrong that this broke me. I've done worse with full sanction. I can do nothing, except be an example of the cost."

Philippa glanced around at those present, trying to decide what was right. Finally, she sat forward. "Wardens are a special breed, apparently." She adjusted her tunic and cleared her throat. "Ser Ruth of the Wardens, I won't help you die, but you can pay. Lock her up."

She looked up with sadness painted across her face. "What does this do? Nothing. Just nothing."

Ser Ruth was escorted away and her next victim carted forward. “Mayor Gregory Dedrick of Crestwood is present for betraying his own constituents. He confesses that ten years ago, he flooded Old Crestwood to kill refugees and villagers touched by the Blight. The mayor claims it was to spare the rest of Crestwood, but we only have his word,” Josephine recited.

Philippa sat forward, her eyes fixated on the man whose life was in her hands. “We know he's guilty of drowning the majority of the village, we have his confession and I've personally seen the corpses in the caves below, but he simultaneously claims innocence via necessity. What should I believe here?”

He looked up, terrified and defensive. “There's no cure for the Blight, but I couldn't convince anyone to leave a sick child or husband behind.”

Josie gasped. “So you herded the infected into one place and flooded Old Crestwood? Were no innocents caught in the waters?”

His answer came hesitantly. “Nearly everyone in the village had the Blight, I swear it! Have mercy. I couldn't tell the survivors I'd drowned their own families to save them. I... I couldn't.”

Philippa knew that killing the man was mercy. He had to live with what he had done. She had a slew of Grey Wardens on her side that needed their ranks replenished. “The Blight was your undoing. Let it also be your means of redemption. I give you to our allies in the Grey Wardens, to fight Darkspawn until the Calling takes you.”

The mayor sighed heavily. “I don't deserve the honor, Your Worship. But I'll do my best.”

The guards who had brought him in moved to undo his bindings and send him on his way. Then the next prisoner was brought in. Philippa shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the broken Duchess slumped toward the dais to stand. She was a wilted shell of herself. The kohl that had lined her eyes streaked down her cheeks and her once beautiful gown was dingy and tattered. “I do not believe a reminder is necessary for this accused. Her capture and disgrace could not have been more public,” Josie said. “Grand Duchess Florianne De Chalons, although her titles are among the dignities already at risk of forfeiture. You spared her life, despite her treachery, what becomes of it now falls to you.”

“It's good to see you again, Florianne,” Philippa taunted, again taking a relaxed position. “Would you care for another dance?”

The duchess managed to pull her spine straighter and she puffed out an uncaring sound as if this were all beneath her. “Despite her posture,” Josie pointed out. “Lady Florianne _has_ acknowledged your authority.”

“Should I curse you on behalf of the Elder One? I realize he had no intention of honoring the concordats I manipulated,” Florianne snipped. “Do as you must. I respect your mastery of the Game, even as I despise your victory. Celene does not know her fortune.”

If Florianne liked her mastery of the game so much, she could put her to use. “She managed to nearly outsmart the three greatest players of the Game in recent history. I can make that work. Grand Duchess, Josephine will see that your wiles profit the Inquisition. Don't disappoint.”

The Duchess chuckled in appreciation. “One must remember that the Game is never truly over, Your Worship.”

When the Duchess was seen out, Philippa breathed a sigh of relief, believing that was the last of her prisoners until Josie held up a hand with a smirk on her face. “This was a surprise. After you returned from the bogs, we discovered this man attacking... the building. With a... goat.” Philippa sat forward in interest, her brows raised and assuming Josie was having her on. Lo and behold, two guards escorted in a large man draped in so many furs that Philippa could barely see his face. His cowl was adorned with two sets of horns and he looked at her in amusement. “Chief Movran the Under. He feels slighted by the killing of his Avvar tribesman... Who repeatedly attacked you first. What should we do with him? Where... should he go?”

Philippa cocked her head and her mouth fell open. “You answered the death of your clan... with a goat?”

The man stepped forward and laughed throatily. “A courtroom? Unnecessary! You killed my idiot son, and I answered, as is my custom, by smacking your holdings with goats' blood.”

Philippa tipped her head at Josie who shrugged. “Don't look at me...”

“No foul,” the man continued. “He meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition. A redheaded mother guarantees a brat! Do as you've earned, Inquisitor. My clan yields. My remaining boys have brains still in their heads!” He laughed loudly again.

Philippa sat back and sighed deeply, tugging her tunic down and straightening her belt. “It seems our conflict was accidental, Chief Movran, but it can't be repeated. I banish you and your clan... with as many weapons as you can carry... to Tevinter.”

His laughter filled the entire main hall and Philippa couldn't help her own smirk. “My idiot boy got us something after all!” She also began feeling better about killing the man. Perhaps not in the manner which she had, but a small weight lifted as his father strutted happily from her hall with a new purpose. She glanced at Josephine who nodded dismissively.

Philippa got up from the throne, glad to have not needed to kill anyone. Perhaps judgment was her calling. Now that she was finished with her paperwork and all of that mess, she decided it was time to go and visit with Cullen to see if she could pry him away from work for some dinner.

As she made her way through the main hall, heading for the solarium and the sunshine beyond, she saw Varric standing with another dwarf, looking both frightened and annoyed. His voice carried across the early evening quiet of the hall. "I appreciate the warning, but you shouldn't have come yourself. What if the guild found out? Or whatshisname?"

"Are you worrying for me or for yourself?" the woman asked with mild whimsy in her tone. She was wearing a typical set of dwarven made rogue gear carelessly undyed with the hood pulled up around her head to hide her identity. She was standing discreetly apart from Varric, but from the look on his face and the tension swirling around, they knew each other well.

"A little of column A, a little of column B. I am the expendable one, after all," he said, the usual smirk that would come with a comment like that not showing up on his face.

Philippa was now curious and she slowed her gait near the doors outside. "Aww. Don't worry. I'll protect you. We'll just have to..." the woman cocked her head as she noticed Philippa out of the corner of her eye. Varric looked sullen as the woman addressed her. "Well, this is a surprise. You're the Inquisitor, right? Bianca Davri, at your service."

Philippa raised a brow. "Your name is Bianca?" Was this the woman that Varric had named his crossbow after?

She shrugged. "It's a common name. Half the girls in the Merchant's Guild are named Bianca. The other half are named 'Helga'. I lucked out."

"I take it you're a friend of Varric's" Philippa concluded as she looked between the two and realized they both had a slight suspicious shift to their eyes.

"Who _isn't_ a friend of Varric's? You have met him before, right?" she said with a light chuckle.

Philippa crossed her arms and glanced between them one more time. "Why do you both look like cats that got into the cream?"

Varric spoke up. "She's taking a huge risk coming here herself. Maybe for both of us."

"Your such a worrier," Bianca scoffed. "There's a giant hole in the sky. I think the Merchant's Guild has bigger things to think about."

Varric sighed. "Bianca's got a lead on where Corypheus got his red lyrium."

Philippa was suddenly very invested as Bianca continued for him. "The site of Bartrand's Folly, the thaig Varric found, has been leaked. There's a Deep Roads entrance crawling with strange humans carting out red lyrium by the handful."

"How in the Maker's name was that information common knowledge?" Philippa asked, her eyes widening.

"There were a few people who knew," Varric explained. "Hirelings from the expedition. A couple of close friends."

Bianca shook her head. "How they found out isn't important. What matters is we know where they are now."

"If it's such a secret, how did you know about it, Bianca?" Philippa asked with a frown.

Varric shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes. "I told her," he mumbled. With another sigh he said, "Right after the expedition, I wrote and told Bianca what we found. I had artifacts that needed buyers, and she had more contacts that would pay for them. Plus, I owed her."

Philippa glanced between them once more. "How do we know they're not using multiple entrances to get to the thaig?"

Bianca shook her head. "Navigating the Deep Roads isn't like the surface. There are no accurate maps of the whole system, and there are cave-ins, Darkspawn, lava floods... If you find a route that gets where you're going, you don't deviate. Trying to find another way could be deadly."

"So you can get there from Ferelden? It's a long way to the Free Marches," Philippa pointed out.

"The Deep Roads are all connected. Or they used to be. Collapses and such. Some of them on purpose," Varric explained.

"They really are roads. They spanned the dwarven empire. Went to every corner of the continent, maybe further," Bianca added. "In theory, you can get to any thaig using the Deep Roads, but in practice... Well, there's a reason nobody uses them anymore."

Philippa knew this was as important as tracking down Samson's base of operations. She offered Varric an encouraging smile and said, "We need to deal with this. As long as he has this source, Corypheus is that much more powerful."

"I couldn't agree more," Varric nodded.

"I'll keep an eye on their operation. If you're interested in shutting it down, you've got my help," Bianca offered. Then she turned to Varric. "Try not to leave me waiting too long, Varric. I've got my own work to do, you know."

She left the main hall and Varric turned to Philippa to sigh heavily. "Right. That's not going to be trouble at all. Let me know when you want to head to the entrance." He waved his hand dismissively and Philippa patted his shoulder lightly before continuing to Cullen's tower.

After a brief dinner before he was called away, Philippa headed inside to the rookery to meet with Leliana. “Cullen said you have something for me?” she said softly, approaching Leliana who was sitting and hovering over a parchment laid flat on the table in front of her. Her ravens cawed quietly as the spymaster lifted her head to regard Philippa. “Yes of course.” She slid a small lockbox toward Philippa who picked it up to cradle it against her chest.

“What's that?” she asked indicating the apparently very interesting letter on the table.

“A message. From Divine Justinia,” Leliana gasped as if she were only just now fully grasping what she was looking at.

“Dead people usually don't send messages,” Philippa said cautiously.

Leliana looked up and frowned. “And I see you feel it necessary to inform me of this... This message was written months, perhaps even years ago... to be delivered to me if she died. I've heard of such contingency plans. A sudden death often leaves loose ends. I'm to go to Valence, a small village on the Waking Sea. There is something hidden there.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Philippa offered, feeling the need to make up for her suspicion of the letter.

“Wonderful.” Leliana stood from her chair and smiled. “I was hoping you would agree to come with me to Valence.” Philippa nodded and before she could turn and leave, Leliana interrupted. “One more thing. If what is hidden in Valence is as valuable as I think, we're not going to be the only ones looking for it. We should not delay long.”

After leaving Leliana, Philippa hunted down Cole in his usual place in the tavern attic. He was intently listening to the bard Maryden who Philippa had discovered had been writing epic songs about the entire Inquisition. Philippa approached Cole quietly, knowing he was aware she was there. “I found one of those Amulets of the Unbound. Would you like to try it on?”

Cole took the amulet from her and hesitantly studied it. "Yes! But not here. I like it here. We need someplace that can go away if it becomes sharp." She smiled and followed him to Solas. His pace was brisk, almost excited and she hoped this was not a disappointment. "What do I do with it?" he asked as they stepped into the rotunda, drawing Solas' attention from what he had been doing.

Solas glanced at them and saw the amulet in Cole's outstretched hand. "You found one of the amulets. Excellent. May I?" He approached and Cole handed off the amulet. He studied it briefly, tipping his head to be certain it was what he was looking for. "It is simple enough. You put it on, I charge it with magic, and you should be protected."

There was a lot of 'if' hidden in Solas' words, and Philippa grunted. "We know it's not just going to work, right? It never just _works_."

"Have faith, Inquisitor," Solas said meaningfully. Her faith was in short supply any more. Everything she touched seemed to go wrong.

Cole slipped the amulet on over his floppy hat and Solas reached his arm out toward the gem shimmering at his chest. Immediately, there was a sweep of magic as Solas concentrated, but then it burst outwards, knocking Cole back a few steps and making him cry out. Philippa touched a steadying hand to his shoulder as Varric came into the room, drawn by the sound. "What was that?" His eyes fell on the scene and Solas' frown and he rolled his eyes. "Oh, for... What are you doing to the kid?"

Cole turned to him, his expression stricken. "Stopping blood mages from binding me like the demons at Adamant. But it didn't work."

"Something is interfering with the enchantment," Solas said, returning to his usual haughty stance, hands clasped behind his back.

"Something like Cole not being a demon?" Varric suggested, stirring Philippa's own doubts.

She tended to agree. Cole was definitely not a demon. Even in spite of all of the conflict with his nature that he experienced, he still remained a spirit of compassion. Something was keeping him from wavering. "Solas, is it possible that the amulet doesn't work on Cole because he's too... human?"

Solas sneered slightly, a single brow rising as if he were surrounded by naive idiots. "Regardless of Cole's special circumstances, he remains a spirit."

"Yes," Varric agreed sarcastically. "A spirit who is strangely like a person!"

Philippa noted his use of 'who' as opposed to 'that' in reference to Cole. She felt like she would have made the same distinction and suddenly, she needed Cole to be as Varric saw him. She was uncertain if the feelings were all together her own. Cole raised his voice above them all and paced away in agitation, Solas on his heels. " _I_ don't matter. Just lock away the parts of me that someone else could knot together to make me follow." She could see the tension in his shoulders as he hung his head, breathing rapidly.

Solas calmly addressed him. "Focus on the amulet. Tell me what you feel."

His head twitched and he began to fiddle with his frayed sleeve. "Warm, soft blanket covering, but it catches, tears, I'm the wrong shape, there's something..." he turned and pointed, beyond Skyhold to the east. "There. That way."

"It appears we have something to find," Philippa said. Then she frowned at Solas. Faith indeed. "I told you it never just works."

Varric turned to Cole. "All right, kid. Get Cullen and work with him on the map to figure out where you're sensing something wrong."

"Will you come with me? All of you?" Cole asked desperately.

"Sure," Varric agreed for them all. Philippa had no objection. Cole turned and left from the doorway that led toward Cullen's tower. Varric turned a mildly annoyed look on Solas. "All right. I get it. You like spirits. But he came into this world to be a person. Let him be one."

Philippa nodded. "If I see a way to protect Cole without taking away... whatever he is, I'll use it. But Cole clearly needs our help."

Varric held up his palms. "I'm not saying we do nothing. But that ritual of theirs only works on demons, right?"

Solas scoffed. "This is not some fanciful story, child of the Stone. We cannot change our nature by wishing."

"You don't think?" Varric asked with a grin.

From pursed lips, Solas said, "However we deal with the problem, our next step is to track down whatever is interfering with the enchantment."

As they dismounted their horses near the gates of Caer Oswin, Cassandra looked disturbed, glaring up at the fortress with curiosity. “Odd that the trail should lead us here. Bann Loren is a pious, unassuming man. What has he become involved in?”

Philippa sighed, tying her horse's reins off on a nearby fence post. The fortress was large and too quiet for her tastes. She led her people around to the side of the castle. No way was she announcing their presence. “He's involved in 'crazy', just like everyone else these days,” she said trying a nearby door and finding it locked sent Varric to pick it open.

“Truer words have never been spoken,” the Seeker agreed as the door popped open and Varric grinned teasingly. “Let's see what lies within.”

Varric stepped inside first and a surprised gasp was cut short by Bianca's report and a wet gurgle. He poked his head out and Philippa followed him into the darkened hallway. The entire place smelled wrong to her and an odd sense of demonic activity the likes of which she had never felt before slithered over her skin, making her shudder. Varric guided her around the crumpled heap of the door guard and said, “That definitely wasn't a templar, but they don't have on Seeker armor either.”

Cassandra grunted and knelt by the body to flip it onto its back. Philippa had never seen the emblem emblazoned on the chest of his armor, but Cassandra sighed and then sneered. “Promisers. I should have known.” She stood and nudged the dead man with a toe and used her fingers to put quotes around their official name. “ 'The Order of Fiery Promise', is a cult with... strange beliefs about the Seekers. They've hounded us for centuries.”

“What kind of 'strange beliefs',” Philippa asked, never having heard of the group.

They walked cautiously through the dark hallway, watching for more guards as Cassandra explained. “They believe _they_ are Seekers... the only rightful ones. They say we robbed their powers long ago, preventing them from ending the world.”

“Why exactly do they think that's a good idea?” Philippa gasped.

“The only way to truly eradicate evil, in their eyes. 'The world will be reborn a paradise'. It's all nonsense,” she sighed with a short noise of disgust.

“That sounds like something the Seekers probably should have dealt with,” Philippa pointed out, still trying to wrap her mind around the ridiculous notion.

“We have. Many times. They simply reappear after a time, like weeds. Nobody knows how,” Cassandra growled.

Philippa snorted “Cultists. I should be surprised, but I seem to have lost the capacity.”

They headed into a small dungeon where they ran into more of the Promisers. Taking them by surprise, they killed them easily. Cassandra sighed. “This explains why the Seekers might be here, but not the connection to Corypheus.”

Philippa agreed and they left the dungeon to find a way into the inner courtyard. They came out on a small balcony and followed it around to a set of stairs that led to the stables and outside training grounds. They were met by more Promisers and a few Red Templars. Cassandra brazenly searched the bodies, looking for clues. She came up with a letter on the body of the Captain.

She began to read aloud. “As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effects of red lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim your destiny, and know the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment... Signed by Lord Samson, Commander of the Red Templars...” she sighed heavily and then glanced at Philippa. She shook the paper at her. “Does Corypheus not realize the Promisers want the world to end? What use are they to him?”

“Disposable canon fodder. They won't last long after they finish their mission,” Philippa pointed out. He was using them to eliminate the Seekers. Nothing more.

“But after he gets what he needs out of them,” Cassandra agreed, her arm dropping limply to her side. “But this doesn't explain how he captured the Seekers in the first place, or what's been done with them. We must keep looking.”

Philippa cocked her head at the hard woman and saw the fear buried deep in her eyes. “The letter said Seekers were resistant to red lyrium.”

Cassandra sneered, likely realizing that Philippa was backhandedly trying to soothe her. “Our abilities grant us many gifts, but a resistance to red lyrium's corruption. That seems strange. Although it would explain why none have numbered among the Red Templars. And thus Seekers would be useless to Corypheus. He would have no leash to hold us.”

“Do you really want to keep looking? What we find might not be pleasant,” Philippa offered cautiously.

“I do not shy away from unpleasant things. I must know,” Cassandra insisted, turning away and heading for the Keep's main entrance.

Inside there were more of the Promisers, but no Red Templars. It made clearing the main hall much easier. Cassandra moved like a battering ram through the threat, her path clearly laid out before her. She was furious. Up the stairs and out of the main hall they came to a large mezzanine that separated the main hall from the apartments and the upper courtyard. Sitting rather out of place at the bottom of a wide flight of stone stairs was a young man. Cassandra gasped and ran to him, “Daniel? Daniel, can you hear me?” She knelt before him, her hands hovering as if she were unsure if she should touch him.

Philippa slowly approached as the man coughed out a greeting. “Cassandra?” He was clutching his gut, but there was no visible wound on him. She could feel that he was not altogether himself and she cringed. She had met the unexplained demon activity. His shaved head gave them a spectacular view of the blackened veins that stuck out in contrast to his sickly pale skin. His eyes were sunken and ringed with black circles. Dorian lightly gripped Philippa's shoulder to keep her from getting too close. “It _is_ you. You're alive.”

“As are you,” Cassandra sighed, her expression stricken. “I'm so glad I found you.”

“No, they... put a demon inside me. It's tearing me up.” He grunted in pain.

“What? You can't be possessed! That's impossible,” Cassandra gasped.

He shook his head. “I'm not possessed. They... fed me things. I can feel it growing...”

Philippa gently shrugged Dorian's hand away and knelt beside Cassandra. “Can a demon be _grown_ inside someone?” It was fascinating if true, and Philippa had to stop short of poking at the dying man in hopes of sussing out exactly what was happening beneath his skin.

“ _Savages!_ I will tear every last one of them apart!” Cassandra growled.

“No,” Daniel gasped with urgency, reaching of Cassandra. “The Lord Seeker.”

“Of course we'll find him. If he lives, we'll...” Cassandra said taking the boy's outstretched hand in hers.

“Lucius betrayed us, Cassandra. He sent us here, one by one. 'An important mission', he said... Lies! He was here with them all along. He's still working with them,” Daniel spat.

“We know the Lord Seeker was not himself in Val Royeaux. Could this be where the real Lord Seeker is?” Philippa wondered quietly as she glanced at Cassandra.

“That wasn't him,” Daniel explained with a nod. “It was a demon, masquerading.”

“We met the demon, but...” Cassandra gasped. “How could that be?”

“The Lord Seeker allowed it. He let the demon take command, while he...” Daniel was struggling.

“Came here,” Cassandra finished for him.

“Would he really work with these cultists?” Philippa asked Cassandra with disgust in her own tone.

“I intend to find out,” Cassandra answered, her anger flaring.

Philippa sighed, standing. “Wait!” Daniel pleaded. “Don't leave me like this, please...”

Philippa backed away with a look from Cassandra. The Seeker then turned back to the boy. “You should have come with me. You didn't believe in the war any more than I did.”

“You know me, I wanted that promotion,” he answered with a coughing chuckle.

“Go to the Maker's side, Daniel. You will be welcome.” Cassandra hugged the boy with one arm before her other came out with a dagger. She cleanly slit his throat and hung her head. When she looked up, it was with rage that she stood. Her hands trembled as she slipped the dagger back into her belt. “He was my apprentice. I have never known a finer young man. _Now_ we find Lord Seeker Lucius.”

She stalked up the stairs and Philippa followed closely, glad that Cassandra was not mad at her. The air was oppressive with her anger. They met little resistance between them and the Lord Seeker. He was outside in a small courtyard garden near the front entrance as if he had been expecting them to waltz in the front door.

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra spat, turning his name into an accusation.

“Cassandra... with a woman I can only assume is the new Inquisitor,” Lucius held a lack luster smile on his face, and Philippa was finally able to see why the demon had been able to fool so many. The expression was exactly like the one it had set on her in Val Royeaux before catching a glimpse of her hand.

“And you're the man who betrayed his own Order,” Philippa growled, pointing an accusing finger at him to match Cassandra's tone.

“I presume you know we Seekers of Truth were once the original Inquisition. Oh, yes. We fought to restore order in a time of madness long ago, as you do now... And we became proud. We sought to remake the world... to make it better. But what did we create? The Chantry. The Circles of Magi. A war that will see no end,” he spat bitterly, the smile disappearing.

“ _We_ are not the original Inquisition,” Philippa reminded him.

“Of course you say that now,” he warned.

“So you did all this because you hate our Order?” Cassandra asked, her anger fizzling to a confused sadness.

“We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra. We created a decaying world, and fought to preserve it even as it crumbed. We had to be stopped,” he said with a sigh. He reached out and one of the men standing at his back handed him a large ancient tome. “You don't believe me? See for yourself. The secrets of our Order, passed to me after the former Lord Seeker was slain. The war with the Mages had already begun, but it was not too late for me to do the right thing.”

“And _this_ ,” Philippa held out her arms, encompassing the keep. “shoving demons in your followers, helping the Promisers, helping Corypheus, was the right thing?”

“Lord Seeker...What you've done...” Cassandra shook her head.

“I know,” he admitted, sadly. “What Corypheus did with the Templars does not matter. I have seen the future. I have created a new Order to replace the old. The world will end so we can start anew... A pure beginning. Join us Cassandra. It is the Maker's will!” he preached, pleading on deaf ears.

Cassandra snarled as she pulled her sword and bore down on him. Philippa's staff was in her hands immediately. The Lord Seeker seemed not to understand right away what was happening. His shield nearly didn't make it up to block Cassandra's attack. Philippa's spirit bolt slipped under his guard, knocking him back. Dorian drew his palms together and when they separated, ice sprang up around the Lord Seeker. Varric stayed back, peppering the three other men that had been in the courtyard with Lucius, bolts landing with sickening thuds into their heads and chest. Philippa uncoiled her mana and called a firestorm down on the bleeding men. Cassandra needed no help with the Lord Seeker. She cut him down not only with her sword, but with her anger to back her up. When the courtyard laid empty, Cassandra breathed heavily, sweating under her armor. She slung her shield onto her back and sheathed her sword to bend and pick up the tome that the Lord Seeker had abandoned. “He was insane. He had to be,” she whispered softly, her fingers tracing the Chantry symbol on the cover of the book. “The Influence of Corypheus, perhaps. Was he trying to disable the Seekers?”

“All these wasted lives...” Philippa sighed, glancing around at the dead that laid all around.

“He could not have destroyed all of us. I won't accept it,” Cassandra growled, then sighed herself. “Let us return to Skyhold. I wish to see what's in this 'Book of Secrets'.”

Cassandra read each night after they set up camp, barely taking the time to eat anything before burying her nose in the thick tome. Philippa watched as each night, her usual stoic attitude slumped farther into a concerned thoughtfulness that apparently warranted many glances in Philippa's direction. The evening of their seventh day, Philippa could no longer take the suspense. She warned Dorian and Varric away and quietly approached Cassandra where she sat cross legged by the fire. Philippa draped herself over a nearby log and watched Cassandra until the other woman sighed heavily. She closed the book and without looking at Philippa said, “This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker, since the time of the old Inquisition... And now it falls to me.”

“That... seems like slow reading. How _do_ you keep your eyes open?” Philippa quipped and Cassandra graced her with a weary smile.

“On the contrary, it's a delight. I'm riveted,” the woman returned, her own tone sarcastic.

“Oh, you're _joking_!” Philippa said in delight.

Another sigh slipped from Cassandra before she began to speak again. “I assume you know about the Rite of Tranquility.” Philippa cringed, thinking of the many Tranquil she had dealt with on a daily basis, hawking wares and looking so... empty. And then she thought of Brissa and wondered what had happened to her old friend after the Circles fell. Cassandra continued, ignoring Philippa's discomfort. “The last resort used on mages in the Circle, leaving them unable to cast but depriving them of dreams and all emotion.” Cassandra held up her hand against Philippa's protest. “It should only be used on those who cannot control their abilities... but that has not always been the case.”

“You mutilate mages,” Philippa said a bit more harshly than she intended.

Cassandra laced her fingers together, resting her hands on the book, her back straightening. “I always thought it a necessary evil... What finally began the Mage rebellion was a discovery the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up... harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of it's discovery in addition to what happened in Kirkwall... But it appears we've _always_ known how to reverse the Rite. From the beginning.”

Philippa took a moment to collect her jaw from the ground before responding. “So, the rebellion could have been prevented.”

“Perhaps, but it was a long time coming, for many reasons.” Cassandra hung her head, as if contemplating how to phrase what she was going to say next. When she looked up, she said. “We created the Rite of Tranquility. I told you of my vigil... The months I spent emptying myself of all emotion? I was made Tranquil, and did not even know. Then the vigil summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. That broke Tranquility and gave me my abilities. The Seekers did not share that secret. Not with me, not with the Chantry, not even with...” She paused and set the book down to stretch her back. “There's more. Lucius was not wrong about the Order. I thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours. Now I'm not certain it deserves to be rebuilt.”

Philippa felt a pang of guilt. “I don't think I've ever seen you so shaken,” she said.

“I do not think the Seekers have been doing the Maker's work. Not truly.” She sighed and set sad eyes on Philippa. “Perhaps we believed it, once. The original Inquisition came to be during a terrible time. But now? We harbored secrets and let them fester. We acted to survive, but not to serve. That is _not_ the Maker's work.”

The right path was clear to Philippa. Cassandra was an honorable woman who believed more in the Maker than herself most days. “Rebuild the Seekers. Make them better than they were,” Philippa insisted with a shrug.

Cassandra smiled and held out her hand. Philippa took it and accepted the confident squeeze. “Thank you. I could not have done this on my own.”


	39. MINE-or Inconveniences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa attacks two of Corypheus' main sources of red lyrium.

She didn't even have a chance to change when she returned to an agitated Cole with a sliver of a map. They needed to go to Redcliffe. She sighed and with a quick wave to Cullen who was watching from his tower, turned back around with Cole, Varric and Solas in tow. When they arrived, it was closing in on evening and the village was nearly deserted. A man and a dwarf were speaking quietly by the large griffon statue in the middle of the village and obviously up to nothing good. She stopped and frowned when the man sent a shifty glance in their direction and shooed the dwarf quickly. When the dwarf left, he approached them. "Greetings. Can I help you?"

Philippa felt a wave of recognition and anger sweep through her, tugging at her navel as Cole flickered in and out of sight as he bore down on the man. "You." Suddenly, the man was on the ground and Cole was holding him in place with a hand on his forehead and a dagger pointed at him. "You killed me!"

The man held up his hands in fear. "What, I don't... I don't even know you!"

Philippa's hand went to her stomach as Cole's anger flooded her. "You forgot. You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!"

"The Spire?" Philippa could feel the man's recognition as he choked on the word.

"Cole, stop." Solas demanded forcefully when she could not find the sense to inside the swirling emotions that were both hers and his.

Cole's head spun to glance at Solas as Philippa leaned a hand on a nearby fence post to regain her equilibrium around the dizziness that washed over her along with the creeping nausea. With Cole's distraction, the man slipped from his grasp and ran for the hills, tripping over his own feet in terror. Cole moved to follow him, his own steps slow and meaningful. "Just take it easy, kid," Varric stepped in front of Cole, stopping him in his tracks.

"He killed me," Cole accused, pointing after the man. "He killed me. That's why it doesn't work. He killed me and I have to kill him back!"

Philippa swallowed the nausea and confusion and grunted, "If he killed you, wouldn't you be dead?"

"Cole," Solas said firmly. "This man cannot have killed you. You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body."

Cole hung his head and Philippa watched the memory play out behind her eyes. "A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank, a captured apostate. They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death. I came through to help... and I couldn't. So I became him. Cole."

Silence filled with empathy and sadness followed before Varric cleared his throat. "If Cole was an apostate, that'd make the guy we just saw a templar. Must've been buying lyrium."

Cole started to walk after the man again. "Let me kill him. I need to... I need to."

Varric approached Philippa and laid his hand on top of hers where it still rested on the fence post. "The kid's angry. He needs to work through it."

Solas shook his head. "A spirit does not work through emotions. It embodies them."

Varric rolled his eyes. "But he isn't a spirit, is he?" he looked at Philippa as if he knew what she could feel. "He made himself human, and humans change. They get hurt, and they heal. He needs to work it out like a person."

Solas closed his eyes in disappointment. "You would alter the essence of what he is."

Varric shook his head. "He did that to himself when he left the Fade. I'm just helping him survive it."

Philippa could still feel Cole's anger washing through her. Varric was right. "We aren't fixing anything by letting this continue. Cole needs to come to terms with this mess."

Varric squeezed her hand and then pulled his away with a bitter smile. "Leave it to me." He followed after where Cole was staring after the man. He patted Cole's arm and started toward the hills as well. "All right, kid. You want revenge? Come with me."

Philippa was drawn after them, keeping her distance. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" the man shouted when Cole and Varric caught up to him when he ran to the edge of a cliff and had nowhere to go.

His remorse was genuine. Because Cole could feel it, Philippa could feel it. "Sorry isn't going to help him now, is it, kid?" Varric said encouragingly.

"No," Cole said angrily.

Varric took Bianca from his back and loaded a bolt before handing her to Cole. Philippa didn't think he had ever let anyone else touch the crossbow before, let alone fire it. "Then pull the trigger and put him down like a mad dog," he said softly.

Cole took Bianca and lifted her so he was sighting through the scope Varric had mounted on the top. There was no way he could miss. Philippa felt his rage overwhelm him again before settling out in a quiet anger as his hands shook. A wordless cry left his lips as he fired the bolt, aiming wide and hitting the ground beside the man's feet. It was a choice. A human choice. And it made his stomach queasy.

"How're you doing, kid? Feel any better?" Varric asked as he took Bianca from Cole's hands and slid her back into place on his back.

Philippa shook her own head as Cole shook his, his emotions slipping from her "No," he whimpered.

"You can't make it all go away. I learned that the hard way," Varric soothed with a hand on Cole's upper arm.

Cole reached out his hand and muttered, "Forget..." but Varric's hand tightened around Cole's bicep.

"No. He needs to remember. You, too." Cole allowed Varric to drag him away from the shocked man. "We're done here."

On the ride back to Skyhold, Philippa could no longer feel Cole as she did a normal spirit, but from the expression on his face, he was taking to being human one step at a time. She was painfully aware of him, like she never had been before. It was as if before, she remembered him, but not fully until he would appear before her and her memories of him would sharpen. Where he had been a fuzzy image, he was now clear as day. Varric took to being a mentor of sorts, talking to Cole and trying to lighten the mood of the entire party. Solas had been silent since she had made her decision.

Cole disappeared after they rode into Skyhold, but by slinking off, not in his usual poofing magic trick. Philippa, Varric and Solas all trod up the stairs to the main hall and into the rotunda where Solas finally decided to make his point heard. "For all we know, the amulet will now never function. Cole remains vulnerable to binding."

"No, he isn't," Varric scoffed. "The amulet didn't work because he's too human, right?" Solas looked away, suppressing a huff behind his lips. "Maybe now the kid's also too human for that binding magic to work on him."

"I hope you're right," Solas sighed.

The door opened and closed and Cole entered, clutching his stomach. "It still hurts. When do I stop hurting?"

Philippa offered him a sweet smile. “I ask myself that same question everyday. If you ever find out, kindly share.”

“Come on, kid. Let's go for a walk. It'll clear your head,” Varric offered.

“The left hand misses a friend with two different names. She's hurting, sad, alone, but...” Cole looked up and pleaded to them. “Everyone can see me now. They remember. How do I put honey in Leliana's wine without her noticing?”

“I can help with that,” Varric sighed with a smile.

He led Cole back outside and Solas watched them go, his expression sad. “It is good that he is not entirely changed, however human he becomes.”

Philippa left Solas with a smile and a pat on his shoulder. She was tired, but she needed a friend to share with. She glanced in two directions and decided to head up to the library. As she climbed the stairs, raised voices filtered to her attention. “I don't know what you think you're doing.” That was Mother Giselle.

Dorian's velvety voice followed with a retort. “I'm being clucked at by a hen, evidently.”

“Don't play the fool with me, young man,” she scolded as Philippa crept up to listen.

“If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather more convincing, I assure you,” Dorian growled angrily.

“Your glib tongue does you no credit,” Mother Giselle snapped in response.

“You'd be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, Your Reverence,” Dorian purred.

Before things could get any further out of hand, Philippa made her way the rest of the way up the stairs and stood at Dorian's side. “Oh, I...” Mother Giselle looked flustered at the sight of Philippa.

Dorian had his arms crossed and he swayed on his feet, glaring at the Mother. He tipped a greeting to Philippa who looked between the two of them and began to unclip some of her armor. “What have I inadvertently interrupted this time?”

Dorian wasted no time. “It seems the Revered Mother is concerned about my 'undue influence' over you.”

“It _is_ just concern. Your worship, you must know how this looks,” Mother Giselle sighed.

“You might need to spell it out, my dear,” Dorian scowled.

The Mother sighed again. “This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone...”

Philippa cut her off, stuffing both her gloves in one hand. “Because he's Tevinter, that's a problem?” Philippa snapped.

“I'm fully aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same,” Giselle said.

“How kind of you to notice,” Dorian said sarcastically. “Yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses?”

“The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence. What would you have me tell them?” she asked in frustration.

“The truth?” Dorian asked as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

“The _truth_ is I do not know you, and neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue,” she retorted.

Philippa sighed. “Do tell. I love a good rumor,” she challenged.

In spite of her dark skin, the Mother flushed. “I... could not repeat them, your worship.”

“And how many times have you shared them before now if this makes it repeating them?” Philippa accused. Mother Giselle had gotten on Philippa's nerves already when she had attempted to get rid of Dorian by lying to him about the letter from his family.

“I... see,” Giselle said cautiously. “I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man's intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.” She bowed her head curtly and backed away to leave.

“Well, that's something.” Dorian held his hand out, offering Philippa a seat in his chair.

She flopped down gratefully and he gracefully placed himself before her on a stack of very comfortable pillows strewn about the floor. He helped by un-lacing her boots while she asked, “This sort of thing happens often, does it?”

He smiled coyly. “More than anyone tells you. No one knows their own reputation.” He set her boots aside and began rubbing her weary feet.

“Until someone helpfully informs them,” she smirked, kicking lightly to let him know he didn't need to be doing what he was doing.

He continued anyway. “There is that. She meant well, if that's of any concern... I should ask. Do the rumors bother you?”

She shrugged and snorted. “I've never put much stock in rumors... Did you know that back in Kirkwall, I was accused of being a blood mage?”

He smiled widely. “That's good. I'd hate to think I brought you any grief. Perhaps it's odd to say, but... I think of you as a friend, Phil. I have precious few friends. I didn't think to find one here.”

She sat up a bit straighter with a smile. “I...”

“Don't speak,” he interrupted her, dropping her foot and placing both hands on her knees. “I detest confessions, and I'd like to get this over with.” He swallowed before continuing. “Allow me to say that I'll stand beside you... against Corypheus, my countrymen, or spurious rumor, so long as you'll have me.”

Philippa was touched. She'd considered Dorian her friend for quite some time, but she had not realized how deeply he cared for her. “Well, you'd better not leave. Then I'd be trapped with Solas and Vivienne.” she made a teasing sneer of disgust before playfully kicking him in the chest and tipping him backwards. He laughed loudly grabbing her leg and trying to pull her off the chair.

“That is the last time I share my chair with you, blood mage.”

There were two separate red lyrium mines to shut down. Philippa went to Bianca first, traveling to the Deep Roads entrance in the Hinterlands. They were attacked by dwarves outside the entrance and Philippa frowned. "Mercenaries?"

"Looks like Carta," Varric identified as he knelt beside one of the bodies that Cassandra had relieved of his head. "Lyrium smuggling would be profitable around here." The last time she had been attacked by Carta, they had ended up waking Corypheus. It made her nervous.

She nodded and they entered Valammar on full alert, drawing weapons briefly when they heard a voice just inside the entrance. "Finally! I started to think you weren't coming!"

Bianca stepped from the shadows, a bow slung over her back and a quiver of arrows handy. Varric chuckled when he realized it was her, glancing around at their surroundings. "Nobody said you had to hang out in the creepy cave while you waited."

"Well, I did wait," she grumbled. "So let's make this quick. These idiots are carrying the red lyrium out in unprotected containers. We don't want to stick around long enough for it to start 'talking' to us."

"We'd better get to work," Philippa agreed, her side already aching with the proximity of all the red lyrium.

"Sounds good to me." Bianca gathered up a few things and they continued further into the cave. It widened just around the bend and stone stairs led upwards.

"Must be an old dwarven outpost," Varric mused.

"What was it for?" Philippa wondered.

Varric shrugged. "Trade, maybe? Your guess is as good as mine."

Philippa chuckled softly and Cassandra shot her a scathing glance knowing her well enough by now to know that she had just made a 'mine' joke in her head. She shrugged and Cassandra rolled her eyes as they reached the top of the stairs. The landing was the beginning to a wide stone bridge that stretched across a gaping chasm below. In the middle of the bridge stood two massive dwarven statues carved from the stone itself while they were digging the structures. More Carta dwarves stood in their way around every turn and with Bianca's help, they were easily able to slough their way through the outpost, making it to an upper terrace before Bianca started to talk to Varric between fights. "So is this what you do now?"

"Beg pardon?" he asked in a teasingly indignant tone.

She shrugged and adopted her own teasing tone. "Skulking around in caves. Shooting guys. Is this your day-to-day?"

"I usually try to avoid the caves," he grumbled, rolling his shoulders.

Following the terrace around, they came to a set of stairs that led down further into the outpost. At the bottom, Carta dwarves were already fighting. "Darkspawn," Philippa warned as the creatures swarmed across a bridge below. She had dealt with more than enough Darkspawn up close, and the experience was not improving. They were bald and scaly, their skin missing in patches that oozed black ichor that carried an incurable infection that would either kill you or turn you into a mindless ghoul. The little bit of armor they wore was rusty and mismatched, and they carried weapons to match.

"We may be too close to the surface for these to count as 'Deep Roads'..." Varric stated. "But have I mentioned I hate the Deep Roads?"

Cassandra hung back, allowing the ranged fighters to take out the Darkspawn, to reduce the risk of infection, before she swooped in and helped handle the Carta that were left. They crossed the bridge toward where the Darkspawn were coming from and met another terrace to follow. Bianca fell back into her casual banter. "You had me worried, you know?"

Varric scoffed in irritation, "What did I do now?"

She backhanded his arm. "That letter you sent me about the red lyrium was the first I'd heard from you since the Chantry explosion."

Varric screwed up his mouth. "Had it been that long?"

"Seriously," she continued. "If you'd died in that mess, I'd have come back to Kirkwall and dug you up just to kick your ass."

He chuckled. "What would you do if I'd been cremated?"

A wry smirk crossed her face and she said, "Kick your ashes, of course."

Philippa frowned as she walked ahead, wondering what the story was between Varric and Bianca. They clearly cared for each other, but it didn't seem like they saw each other very often. She made a note to ask him when they got back to Skyhold. Down and around another set of stairs, they found the tunnel collapse where the Darkspawn were crawling up from. They collapsed the debris and Philippa sealed the hole with a massive rock that she lifted with her magic and shoved in the opening.

Varric started the next conversation as they crossed a rickety wooden bridge across the chasm, way below where they had come in. "How is whatshisname?"

"Bogdan?" Bianca asked brightly as if she knew that saying the name would make Varric scowl. It had the desired effect and she continued. "He's in Nevarra right now, selling my machine to wealthy landowners."

"I heard some of the Guild were trying to get you named a Paragon for that contraption," he suggested.

"That's not going to happen, even if I am ten times the smith Branka ever was. A surfacer Paragon? Never." They approached what looked like a sealed door, but Bianca shuffled up beside it and pulled a key from her pocket. "I built these doors. They probably shut this one from the other side when they heard the ruckus we were making." She inserted the key, turned it and the door slid into the floor. "Ta-da!"

Philippa frowned. "You've been here often enough to renovate the cave?"

Bianca wrinkled her nose at being questioned. "You already know I've used this entrance in the past. I don't know if Varric's told you, but the Merchant's Guild is cutthroat. Literally. I built the doors to keep rivals from following me down here and arranging 'accidents'."

"I guess it's a good thing you came along, then," Philippa shrugged.

"I get that alot," Bianca said with a snarky smile. Then she stepped aside. "After you."

Not far into the door, more Carta were waiting. Once they were dead, Bianca said to Varric, "You know, this is almost fun. Kind of like old times."

"I don't recall us ever shooting people together," he chuckled.

She sniggered. "Remember crashing Bartrand's Guild dinner? We might as well have shot him."

Varric hummed, "This isn't nearly as dangerous as pissing off my brother.

"How long are you going to be in Orlais, do you think?" she wondered.

He shrugged. "As long as this weird shit is going on at least. Maybe longer. Why?"

"You'll have to stop by before Bogdan gets back. You should see my new workshop," she offered suggestively.

"I'll see what I can do," he said dismissively. "You know your family will kill me if I stop by, right?"

She waved off his suspicion. "They're not going to kill you."

He grunted. "You always say that, and they always send assassins."

Philippa shook her head. Carts of red lyrium were lying around the room they were in, pushed toward the walls and the humming song was starting to get on Philippa's nerves. She had been resisting the urge to rub at her scar by gritting her teeth since they had arrived and her jaw was starting to ache.

At the back of the room, Bianca started to shuffle among some papers on a desk and then grabbed up a key. "There you are," she mumbled before hustling to the closed door and locking it. "They won't be able to use this entrance again." She sighed in relief.

"Bianca..." Varric said in an accusing tone, shaking his head and drawing Philippa's attention away from her side.

Philippa took a good look at the key in Bianca's hand and frowned. "That's exactly like your key. How did they get a copy?"

"Well... funny story," Bianca shuffled her feet awkwardly. "When I got the location, I went and had a look for myself. And I found the red lyrium, and I... studied it."

"You know what it does to people!" Varric scolded with an angry scowl.

"I was doing you a favor!" she argued, her own sneer deepening. "You've had people studying it for years now, and they've come up with nothing! I just... wanted to figure it out."

"That's quite the leap from receiving the location to offering it up to an ancient Darkspawn..." Philippa urged.

"I found out that red lyrium..." She turned form Philippa to plead directly to Varric. "It has the Blight, Varric! Do you know what that means?"

"What? Two deadly things combine to form something super-awful?" he guessed sarcastically.

"Lyrium is alive!" she announced. "Or... something like it. Blight doesn't infect minerals. Only animals. I couldn't get any further on my own, so I looked for a Grey Warden mage. Blight and magical expertise in one, right? And I found this guy, Larius. He seemed really interested in helping my research. So I gave him a key." She bit her bottom lip as she finished.

"Larius?" Varric asked with shock as Philippa's own stomach flipped. "He was the Grey Warden we met in Corypheus'... Oh, shit." he exchanged a look with Philippa and then growled. "I knew something seemed off!" Philippa had been so out of it after fighting Corypheus that Larius' strange behavior had only been mildly off-putting. His explanation had seemed sound.

"I didn't realize until you said you found red lyrium at Haven. I came here and... well... Then I went to you," Bianca said passively.

Philippa sighed, the pieces all falling into place. She scowled at Bianca. "You told Varric you had a 'lead' so we'd come down here and fix what you broke."

She nearly whimpered. "I know I screwed up, but we did fix it! It's as right as I can make it!"

Varric stepped forward, his anger radiating off him like she had never seen before. He was normally the most relaxed person she knew. "This isn't one of your machines! You can't just replace a part and make everything right!"

"No, but I can try, can't I?" she growled in return. "Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself, telling stories of what I should have done?"

Varric let out a bark of irritated laughter that she was used to hearing from Dorian. "As if I would tell stories about my own mistakes!"

"This really isn't the place for you love birds to be arguing," Philippa interrupted, breaking up the argument.

"Sorry, Charmer," Varric mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "We've done all we can here. Bianca, you'd better get home before someone misses you." He backed away from her.

"Varric..." she said sadly.

He waved a dismissive hand and turned from her, leaving everyone behind. "Don't worry about it."

Bianca watched him for a moment and then approached Philippa. She glared up at her and said, "Get him killed, and I'll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor."

"That was quite an exiting line," Philippa said as she followed Bianca from the room with her eyes. "Let's get out of here," she sighed, the red lyrium starting to make her skin crawl.

Back out in the sunshine of the Hinterlands, Varric sighed as she walked beside him, Cassandra and Dorian lingering behind to give them space. "I'm glad to have answers, but... shit. The second she showed up, I knew. I just... I let this mess happen. I gave her the thaig. And I am not good at dealing with shit like this."

Philippa threw an arm around his shoulder. "You think you're awful at dealing with shit? Have you met me?"

"No, no!" he shrugged her off. "The point is... I don't. I don't deal with things. If the Seeker hadn't dragged me here, I'd be in Kirkwall right now, pretending none of this was happening."

She nudged him again. "I beg to differ. You're more than dedicated. Who was the one volunteering to be my disciple?"

"Is that true? I don't even know anymore." He sighed heavily. "Thank you. For your help back there."

"After all this, do you think you'll see Bianca again?" she asked with a smile.

"I always do," he returned the expression.

They had a long way back to Skyhold, and Philippa knew that she might be able to get some information in his current mood. She was curious. "Tell me more about Bianca," she hinted.

He sighed again and cast her a sidelong glance. "I'm not making any promises here. Ask."

"How do you know her?" she started off small and not too personal.

"I met her years ago, when she still lived in Kirkwall and I was looking for someone with... mechanical skills. Bianca is, beyond a doubt, the most brilliant smith you'll ever meet." His expression was fond as he described her. "I haven't seen her since she got married and moved to Orlais."

Philippa frowned. "That's actually surprising. From the way you two carried on together, I could have sworn you were involved."

He cringed. "Bianca's family are Kalnas... surface dwarves so conservative, they don't take a piss without asking the Ancestors first. They picked out a Smith Caste boy for her. Wealthy, respected, has a great anvil collection. The perfect husband. I heard the wedding was lovely. The one Bianca actually showed up for, anyway."

"All right, fess up. I've heard at least three different stories from you in regards to the crossbow. Bianca made it, didn't she? I mean, it has her name," Philippa teased.

Varric cringed. "It's not that simple," he explained, glancing around as if the hills had ears. "The Carta thinks my Bianca was a freak success by a Carta inventor who could never duplicate it. If they thought anyone else was involved... someone who could make one work... things would be bad. So I really _can't_ tell the story. I don't want any more blood on my hands."

"What makes the Merchant's Guild such a danger to her?" Philippa wondered, remembering the conversation from Skyhold.

"To be fair, it's more of a danger to me. Technically, we're not supposed to be within three hundred leagues of one another. If it got back to the Guild that we were seen together, they'd freeze my assets. And then have me killed. Maybe not in that order."

She chucked. "Should I even ask what you did to cause that?"

"We almost started a clan war. Does it matter? I can't change it now," he said dismissively.

"So how long have the two of you been together?" she asked, sensing him starting to clam up.

"Well, if you want to split hairs, we're not. Usually, there's a continent between us at all times. We write letters. Now and then, we manage to meet up. I don't know if that's 'together'. Shit, it's been, what? Fifteen years? Great, now I feel old. Thanks."

Philippa gave her companions a few days between traveling to wind down after the Deep Roads while she caught up on paperwork. She was informed that Morrigan had finally arrived and made a note to speak with her soon and welcome her to Skyhold. Spring was coming around and Philippa decided to take her mound of paperwork out to the gardens to enjoy the fresh air. She took a seat at a table beneath one of the gazebos after grabbing up a handful of small rocks to keep her parchments from blowing away in the warm breeze that trickled around the garden, stirring up the scent of flowers and herbs.

While she was signing off on one of Cullen's reports about the requisition of arms for the new recruits, a small voice interrupted her. "You're the Inquisitor!" She glanced up with a smile at the nasally voice of a young boy. He stood before her, looking a little bit awestruck, but smiling politely. He had brown hair styled in a proper cut that seemed Orlesian. His accent, however, was Ferelden. He wore a casual doublet and pants in black and maroon. Across his chest was a prancing griffon crafted of silverite. Philippa tipped her head at the boy who could have been no older than 10. She didn't even reach out with her magic, but she sensed something different about the boy. He felt older than he actually was. It was a bit of a shock to see a child at Skyhold. It wasn't unheard of among the servants and other staff, but none so finely dressed. A small frown creased his brow lightly and he said, "I thought you'd be scarier. Mother said you were scary."

Philippa drew her head back and chuckled. “Depending on who you ask, I am genuinely terrifying.”

His expression turned sad. “Mother says they would think the same about me if they knew. Mother never told me the Inquisitor was a mage.”

Philippa cocked her head, her own curiosity piqued. “If you can sense magic, never become a templar.”

“I can't,” he said hugging himself. “The lyrium gives me terrible nightmares.”

Morrigan approached the boy from behind and placed a hand on his back before Philippa could muster a response. "Kieran. Are you bothering the Inquisitor?"

"Of course not," he said wrinkling his nose before looking over Philippa and smiling again. "Did you _see_ what's on her hand, Mother?"

Morrigan looked at Philippa with a tight lipped smirk and said, "I did see." Then she looked at the boy again. Kieran, she had called him, and patted her hand once. " 'Tis time to return to your studies, little man." Kieran sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping, and she gave him an encouraging nudge before he trudged off. Morrigan sniggered with adoration as she watched him leave. Her ball gown was replaced by a set of black hide trousers beneath leather tassets in haphazard lengths. Most of her torso was exposed, her modesty protected by a burgundy cowl that wrapped around her waist and hung loosely over her shoulders so it could be pulled up over her head. Beneath that was a simple top made of triangles of cloth held together by string. She had finger-less gloves on both hands, one which reached all of the way to her shoulder to be accented by raven feathers as her gown had been. The other reached the middle of her forearm and a leather band was wrapped around her bicep, leaving the rest of her shoulder bare. She still wore the amulet, but the thick necklace she had worn it on before was much more muted for everyday wear. When she glanced back at Philippa with her golden eyes, she was smiling. "My son. Never where you expect him to be, naturally."

Philippa set her quill down and leaned back in her chair to cross her legs at the knees and offered Morrigan the seat across from her with a wave of her hand. "I didn't know you had a son."

"Why would you?" Morrigan asked, gingerly settling herself in the chair, her posture stiff. "I take great pains to not let my reputation affect him in any way. To most in the Imperial Court, he is simply a quiet and well-spoken lad. Perhaps the heir of some distant family. But he goes where I go. Worry not, Inquisitor... Kieran is a curious boy, but seldom troublesome."

"Will his father be joining us as well?" Philippa asked, not concerned at all about Kieran. He was just a child, no matter how strange his aura felt.

Morrigan frowned. "I have raised Kieran on my own for quite some time now, as was my preference from the start. So 'tis but the two of us, Inquisitor. Your fortress is a large place, and you will scarce notice our presence."

Philippa waved a dismissive hand. Morrigan seemed to think that Philippa saw her presence as a hindrance. She was no different from any of the other people in Skyhold. The Inquisition welcomed all kinds. “There's something rather... unusual about him,” she fished, curious about the boy who if people knew something about him they would be scared.

“There is. He is a special lad,” Morrigan said simply, but not without a prideful smile full of a tenderness that looked out of place on her. “It falls to me to protect him from anything and anyone that mean him ill. Most of all, he must be protected from myself. No one could harm him more than I...” Whatever she meant by that, Philippa didn't have the chance to find out as a light breeze crossed through the gazebo, fluttering the edes of her papers. Morrigan breathed in and exhaled with a smile. "To think, until recently this place stood decrepit, occupied only by the desperate and the lost. Now it is party to events that threaten to shake the world. I wonder if it is pleased."

Philippa had not been able to find much information about her stronghold in spite of looking in every book she could find. She knew it had magic, could feel it on her skin, but there was little else to be found. "You've heard of this place?"

Morrigan nodded. "This fortress was built upon the remains of a site holy to the ancient elves. They called it Tarasyl'an... 'The place where the sky is kept'. It is said that from here, they reached up to the heavens to bring them down to rest. They abandoned it, as did the humans who came after them. Bones laid upon bones, silent until your arrival."

Philippa allowed the breeze to rustle her hair and smiled. "I always seem to feel at home here."

Morrigan looked pleased. "The magic in this place has seeped into the stones, protecting it from darkness. Those who let it fall to ruin did not know what they possessed. You, I think, shall do it justice." She paused, and Philippa took up her quill to continue her paperwork, occasionally glancing up to see Morrigan studying her. Finally Morrigan spoke again. "You were kind to welcome my aid, Inquisitor, even knowing as little of me as you do. I will do my best to aid your cause with all the knowledge at my disposal. This I swear to you."

"Your help is more than welcome," Philippa said in thanks.

Morrigan nodded. "Some might think Corypheus a madman for seeking godhood. Yet one must ask... What _were_ the Old Gods? What secrets of theirs did the ancient magisters know? What I fear... what all should fear... Is not that Corypheus believes he can succeed. 'Tis that he actually may." Morrigan was quiet for a time as Philippa continued her open invitation to chat as she continued her paperwork. Morrigan seemed to have trouble opening up, several false starts coming in the form of her opening her mouth and then closing it tightly again. Finally she said, "I understand you have spared the Grey Wardens from destroying what goodwill was left them? 'Tis good of you, considering the weakness Corypheus exploited was their own doing. Still, should a true Archdemon one day arise, they will no doubt be needed. Or so they would have us believe."

Philippa had an inkling that from the way she spoke of the Wardens, the silverite griffon on his clothes, and her history in the fifth Blight, that Kieran's father was a Grey Warden. His age and the timeline matched up. Curious to know more about Morrigan without pressing too hard, Philippa smiled then she swept her hand over the table, palm up in invitation. "I'd like to know more about you." She asked nothing specific, leaving it open for Morrigan to share what she was comfortable with. It was how she had started with a lot of her friends, gathering information and building her opinion behind a smile. Now, after the months spent living side by side the same people, she finally felt like herself. She felt comfortable.

"Ah, yes," Morrigan said gravely. "Whence comes the mystery woman, slinking her way into the Inquisition's ranks?" There was a light grin that formed on her face. "Once I was an apostate, living well away from the banal influence of the Chantry in the Korcari Wilds. Then came the Fifth Blight with its Darkspawn, and I left Ferelden for the Empress' court. 'Tis certain the nobles of Orlais breathe a collective sigh of relief that I am now here."

Philippa knew there was more to her involvement in the Blight from Leliana's reports. She had also heard Leliana's songs about Solona. Morrigan was downplaying her role. Philippa allowed the deception and asked, "You were in Ferelden during the Blight?"

Morrigan nodded. "The Blight began in the Korcari Wilds, so yes... I experienced it firsthand. Indeed, I fought at the Hero of Ferelden's side for a time. She is the reason the Blight was defeated." Morrigan sighed, her eyes going distant. "I wish things had gone differently in the end. It had to be, yet..." She paused, her expression pained as if she had lost a friend. Solona seemed to make friends wherever she went. Then she swallowed, shrugged it off and continued. "And after that, I came to Orlais. The last place one would look for me, or such was my hope."

Philippa found herself agreeing. "I would have never pictured you anywhere near the Orlesian Court."

Morrigan hummed a chuckle. "That was the point, originally. I knew the empress was intrigued by the arcane, and that I could answer questions no Chantry mage could." She made a face like a sneer and Philippa could guess the exact Chantry mage she was thinking of. Morrigan and Vivienne must have gotten along swimmingly at court. "Thus we fit together nicely. I became her advisor and she my benefactor and source of refuge." Morrigan shrugged languidly. "Truth be told, our arrangement would not have lasted much longer. Too many wagging tongues, even for Celene."

"Tell me more about Kieran," Philippa asked tentatively.

"He is a very special young man," Morrigan said evasively.

Philippa raised a brow. "That's evasive... In what way?"

"In every way," Morrigan enunciated before sighing. "At first, Kieran was a means to an end, but as he grew..." she paused and looked seriously at Philippa. "I never thought of myself as a mother, Inquisitor. I had no good example to follow. I find myself becoming something I can barely recognize."

Morrigan seemed hesitant to continue and Philippa nodded with an understanding smile, going back to her paperwork. They spoke a few more times, but finally, Morrigan excused herself and disappeared into the garden.

After a few days, they were back on the road heading for Sahrnia. Philippa had packed her cloak because the reports told them the weather could not have been further from the beautiful spring breezes of Skyhold. She didn't know how the others could stand it as she huddled in her cloak, her hood pulled up around her head to block the frigid winds. It was almost as bad as the trek she had made through the mountains after she had escaped Corypheus at Haven. Cassandra and Dorian both wore cloaks, but they were not shivering like Philippa, and Varric wore his usual coat unbuttoned, his chest hair still peeking from his tunic.

The things they found in the quarry were monstrous. Philippa knew from the trip to the future with Dorian, that red lyrium was grown from human beings, but the quarry was full of the creepy stuff that radiated heat and called to her like a lullaby. There were townsfolk locked in cages, waiting their turn to be 'planted'. She freed the ones she could and gathered whatever information she could in between fighting off the red templars that guarded the quarry with a vengeance. It took them an entire day to clear out the templars in the quarry, and none of them was without injury. They slumped back to the nearest camp that she had established at the tower of bone after liberating it from the red templars, and Philippa sent one of Harding's messenger birds to Skyhold with the notes an formulas they had found scattered throughout the mine and a scribbled note to Cullen that spoke a few endearing words and listed her next move in their current game of chess. They had been interrupted several times as her busy schedule threatened to leave her without a moment's peace.

The next day was spent, taking the keep back from the remaining templars so they could not rebuild their operation once the Inquisition experts properly tore it down. It had been especially trying to get rid of the demon that had been the 'gardener' that oversaw the whole operation. He had tried to tempt her with a 'choice', but nothing he had was worth letting him free to continue to grow red lyrium. In the end they had ended up having to kill him. It was hard fought, each time they thought he was dead, he took on a new form, as if he embodied every type of demon there was, almost like the fight in the Fade during Uldred's coup with the sloth demon. Whatever a 'choice spirit' was, she never wanted to come up against one ever again. Her headache lasted nearly a week, still lingering when they got back to Skyhold.

She went straight to Cullen when they returned, and he was absolutely disgusted. "I've been reading the letters found in the quarry. Samson is making red lyrium from people?"

She took in his curled lip and creased brow. "Not anymore. Not in that mine," she assured him.

"I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It's monstrous. We have to put an end to him." He sifted through some papers on his desk and held one out to her. "Look at these orders from the encampment. That armor must give Samson extraordinary power. We may not be able to stop him."

"Without his fancy armor and that huge supply of lyrium, he's just Samson... I've knocked him out before," she said distractedly as she read over the papers.

"I couldn't say how. Templars are trained _not_ to destroy expensive magical equipment. We need an expert in enchantments. Perhaps Dagna has some ideas? She crafts the impossible every day," he suggested.

Philippa nodded. "I'll go see her," she agreed. Then she saw how frustrated Cullen was and she leaned over his desk. "Don't worry, Cullen. We'll stop Samson."

Cullen leaned forward as well, the desk between them as he smirked. "I've missed you."

She matched his smile and leaned in to the offered kiss. "I'm sorry I've been away so much. We've barely had any time together."

"Perhaps you could find the time to sneak away later? You look like you could use a break," he suggested lightly.

"I think I can work you into my schedule," she said teasingly, offering him one last brief kiss.

After reassuring Cullen, she headed straight to the Undercroft to speak with Dagna. “Dagna?” she said in greeting, the dwarf spinning to turn a cheerful grin on her. “Have you got any interesting dirt on Samson?” Dagna was always smiling. She was a brilliant arcanist and had done a fantastic job on implementing her little tricks into Philippa's day to day weapons and armor. They talked a lot over coffee. Philippa had only ever heard of Antivans having access to the stuff, (Dorian had gotten his from Josephine) but Dagna seemed to have a connection. It took the already enthusiastic little dwarf and made her even more chattery.

“He should be dead!” she said emphatically. “I mean, you could make a _hat_ out of Red Lyrium and kill people, especially the wearer. Samson's armor, it's genius. To do all this and not go insane, he must be resistant, or he _is_ insane... or both...”

“You're not comforting me, Dagna... he's dangerous either way,” Philippa said, crossing her arms.

“Oh, fine,” Dagna waved her hand. “I just need time. And tools. People. And red lyrium. For tests, you see?”

“You want to bring red lyrium to Skyhold?” Philippa asked, raising a brow, not keen on having the stuff anywhere near Skyhold.

“Everything is safe if handled properly. And you don't touch it long. Or breathe it. I mentioned the hat, right? No hat... Time and resources, Inquisitor. I'll get what you want. Now, shoo! I've got work to do.”

Philippa trusted that Dagna would get her results. It was a waiting game now, and Philippa decided she would check in on Cole. She had seen a marked decrease in his little visits to her quarters, but since returning from Redcliffe and the shock of becoming human, he seemed happy enough. She headed to his place among the rafters of Herald's Rest where he still seemed to gravitate to. She approached him with a smile that he returned. Used to his strange greetings, she didn't bother with more than the smile, when he said, "There is no other man. He becomes the other man to do the things he can't."

"We haven't had much chance to chat, now that you're more human. How have you been coping?" she wondered in a soft voice.

He wrinkled his nose, but answered anyway. "It hurts. Everything hurts. Everyone remembers me now. I can only make them miss me for a few heartbeats." He paused and smiled again. "But... I'm real. More real, anyway. And I understand more than I did."

"So in spite of it all, you can still sense other people's feelings?" she asked, her eyes widening. Se couldn't imagine having to live like that. It was bad enough with her own abilities to deal with the presence of demons.

"Yes. I still feel things, flashes of their minds. Pain, hurt, all of it. It's not so loud anymore. I make more noise myself, so I don't hear as much unless I want to. I remember more things, though. It lets me learn. I sometimes see why something I said would bother Cullen. Maybe I'll do it less."

She nodded in understanding. He was receptive to her questions, likely picking up on her own unquenchable thirst to understand everything around her, so she persisted, flushing slightly. "In what ways are you different now?"

He frowned and crossed his arms, looking upwards as if pondering. "Spirits are... they just _are_. Most of them sense something that interests them and stick to it. They don't remember much. It keeps them pure, but it also keeps them from learning, from growing. I wanted to help people, but I only knew enough to do it in the simplest way. Now I can see more. I also want to hit people a lot. Varric is helping with that," he said with a slight smile.

She let out her own chuckle, nodding in agreement. "So what about your body? Any changes physically. Like learning to walk on new legs?" She had noticed he didn't disappear as well as he used to, but wasn't certain if that was simply her perception of him that he could no longer alter because she couldn't forget him.

"I was always fully human. I can do everything I could before, except make people forget. The way I move comes from my mind, not my body. As long as I remember some of the Fade, it remains. My body is just like the real Cole's, except that he was a mage. I'm not." He shrugged.

She thought a moment. "Why do you think that is?"

He pursed his lips in thought. "I can't know for sure, but... the real Cole... His father beat him, killed his mother. His sister might have died, too. I don't know if that was real or what the demon made me think. Then the templars threw Cole in darkness and starved him... all because he had magic." Philippa cringed as Cole continued, the tale all too familiar among new apprentices in the Circle. "He thought that if he didn't have magic... I'm what he wanted to be. Him, but normal. So no one would hurt him."

Philippa swiftly changed the subject. "So if your powers came from your mind, why can't you make anyone forget you anymore?"

He shrugged as if it were obvious. "Because I'm real. The forgetting was for both sides. They weren't frightened by me, and I wasn't hurt by them. Making people forget was a defense against people attacking me... and having what they saw in me stick. Because I'm real, everything sticks. Whatever people think or feel about me stays."

"I'd imagine helping people has gotten a bit dicier if you can't make them forget," she pointed out.

He nodded in agreement. "It's harder. I can't start over if I do it wrong. But seeing me changes them. They know a person wants them to hurt less. That helps." He smiled.

As they talked, she had an idea. She knew getting away sometimes helped her through rough times. Now that she was free to come and go as she pleased, it was her favorite means of forgetting any troubles she might be dealing with. Each mission she left on gave her time in the saddle to work out issues. "How would you like to get out of here, maybe do something fun?" She offered excitedly.

"I don't know," he said tentatively with a tip of his head. "I've never tried."

"Come on," she encouraged taking his hand. She led him to the stables, saddled a pair of horses, and they rode for Val Royeaux. She took him to little cafe that she had been to before, and thought a friendly lunch date might show Cole a little bit of what it was like to be human and spend time with your friends instead of listening to people's thoughts from the rafters, which was still apparently a thing he did.

"Inquisitor! You honor us with your presence!" the maitre d said emphatically as they walked up to the entrance. "May I bring a sampling of fine cheeses for you and your guest?"

"I don't eat," Cole said off-hand as he took in his surroundings.

"Well, then, just a bottle of a fine Ghislain white to start." The maitre d led them to a quiet table near the back of the crowded cafe. "Please enjoy your meal this evening, Your Worship."

When he bowed away, Cole watched him go as Philippa took a seat. Soon he joined her in the chair across from her. "He saw me. They all see me."

"Next you'll be eating and drinking and... everything else," Philippa said with a smile as she rearranged the silverware on the table to her liking.

"What else is there?" Cole asked in wonder.

She smirked, lifting her eyes to take in his curious expression. "Have you used the privy yet? That should be enlightening."

Instead of commenting on her joke, Cole fell into an explanation. "I find people when their pain leaves them open. I ease the pain. I leave. They forget. That was enough for me. Now they remember, and I'm not sure... ah." He chuckled with a joy that seemed out of place.

"Cole?" she asked as he glanced around again, his expression one of realization as the waiter set the bottle of wine on their table, pouring two glasses and leaving. She took a sip, savoring the bite of the grapes mixed with sweet apples.

"I told you about Rhys, the mage who could see me. My friend. My only friend, for a long time. Evangeline showed me that templars could be kind, but even she..." He sighed, closing his eyes briefly as if he were trying to sort through his own emotions.

She smiled sweetly. "If this is going to be another trip through the wringer, please wait until I've finished my wine. Because this..."

" 'This is an excellent Ghislain, and I do _not_ want it ruined'," he finished for her in a light mockery of her voice. Then he smiled too. "Quick words hide a gentle heart. You wouldn't have brought me here if you didn't care. But this isn't about them. It's about..." He paused to search for the right words. It seemed difficult for him to form his own strings of words after speaking through other people's thoughts for so long. "When I found out I wasn't human, when I grew, I lost Rhys. I lost my only friend. That's why I was scared about letting all these people see me. That's why I laughed."

"You're laughing at yourself?" she wondered in the beginnings of understanding what he was trying to say.

"Yes," he agreed, sounding mildly relieved that she understood. "This world taught me that changing means losing your friends. But now I know that doesn't have to be true. I have enough self to know that what I felt was foolish. Isn't it wonderful?"

"It's another good step, Cole," she agreed, taking his hand across the table.

He squeezed her fingers lightly and smiled widely. "I might like being human. What do you think I'll learn next?"


	40. Wisdom and a Secret Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally with a bit of time for quiet, Finn shows Philippa something he discovered in Skyhold. Solas needs a favor.

Cole seemed to enjoy their outing, and Philippa made a note to herself to try and do it more often. Getting away from the castle didn't always have to involve a mission or demons. Sometimes it was just for fun. She still, after all this time, couldn't quite wrap her head around freedom, sometimes.

After the ball, she felt like they were at a standstill, making it the perfect time for her to complete any favors of a personal nature for those she now felt confident calling her friends. Some of them were more difficult to get close to, Vivienne and Solas in particular. No matter what she did, she and Vivienne had much too differing opinions for the Enchantress to ever deign to ask her for a favor.

Once she returned with Cole, she took the next week to travel with Leliana to Valence to uncover whatever secret the Divine had left for her there. It was indeed a very small village, the Chantry likely able to fit inside the one they had left behind in Haven. When they entered, Leliana knelt reverently before the large statue of Andraste to pay her respects. Philippa glanced around curiously. “It is just as I remember it,” Leliana said with a soft smile.

“I had no idea that you'd been here before,” Philippa said distractedly as she tried to find anyone else lingering around. All was quiet.

“After the Blight ended, I came here to see Justinia. She was just Dorothea then, a Revered Mother.” Leliana smiled at the memory.

“Where is everyone? This is all a little creepy,” Philippa finally admitted.

“It's a small village, and it's too early for the Chant. I'm sure the sisters are somewhere,” Leliana assured her.

As if summoned by her words, a Chantry sister appeared from the main area of the Chantry. She passed right by Philippa and spoke to Leliana. “Leliana? Is that you?”

“Sister Natalie!” Leliana purred. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Val Royeaux.”

“No. I've been here since Justinia died. This place makes me feel like... Like she is still with us.” Leliana embraced the sister and her eyes lifted behind the woman's back to shake her head slightly at Philippa, indicating trouble. Philippa stiffened her back and tried to remain casual.

“Inquisitor, this is Natalie, a trusted friend,” Leliana introduced Philippa.

“Wait! 'Inquisitor'? You... You brought the Inquisitor here?” Natalie was obviously flustered. “My lady,” she dropped to a knee. “Forgive me for not recognizing you earlier.”

Philippa chuckled, keeping her tone light while Leliana silently worked out what was off about Natalie. “You owe me twenty readings of the Canticle of Trials for that insult.”

“She doesn't mean it,” Leliana snorted at Natalie's horrified look. The sister stood and Leliana continued. “Natalie, listen. There is something hidden here. Something Justinia left for me.”

“Oh, really? What is it?” Natalie asked with curiosity.

"I don't know, but we'll find it," Leliana frowned slightly. "I'm curious to see what brought us all here." She pulled the letter from her pockets and unfolded it gently. "Justinia's letter came with instructions for me. They were a little cryptic." That sounded like the Divine. Leliana read from the page. " 'Always remember that faith sprung from a barren branch. That light has no fear of darkness. Above all, that strength lives in an open heart.' "

"She must be hinting at something here. Let's look around," Natalie suggested.

As they split apart, Leliana casually began to talk to Natalie as if she were catching up with an old friend, but Philippa could read what she was doing from a mile off. She was interrogating Natalie. "Do they still sing verses from the Benedictions every Friday? That canticle was Justinia's favorite."

"Yes, of course. We'd never give up the traditions of our most beloved Divine," Natalie responded, none the wiser to Leliana playing her.

"That is lovely to hear."

Philippa sighed softly and studied the paintings hung all around the hall. Suddenly, she spotted one of a gnarled bush that held a single white rose. "Faith sprung from a barren branch," she mumbled, approaching the painting. The trim on the wall beneath the painting's frame was scuffed. Philippa traced fingers over it and then realized that if she tucked her fingers behind the painting, there was a small mechanism that could be pulled down. She pulled it and heard a very small click. Whatever she had done was working. She just needed to find the rest of the mechanisms.

Leliana sighed as she ran her own fingers along the feet of the tall statue of Andraste. "I stare up at the Breach sometimes. It's terrifying but beautiful in its way."

"It is beautiful," Natalie agreed. Philippa had found herself thinking the same thing a few times as she stared up at the swirling magic.

"Have you seen it by sunrise?" Leliana asked with a dangerous smile.

"When the sun rises through it, it splits into what looks like a thousand suns like a broken mirror," Natalie described.

"Yes, spectacular, isn't it?"

Philippa found nothing that made her think that it depicted 'light has no fear of darkness', so she approached the large braziers beside Andraste's statue as the brightest source of light, aside from the sun pouring in. Behind the brazier on the right side of the statue, another mechanism was hidden to look like ornamentation. She pulled it and heard another light click.

"You must be careful, Natalie," Leliana warned. "Justinia's enemies are making their move, vying for position and the Sunburst Throne." When Natialie had no response, Leliana tried a different tack. "Justinia saved me, but not in the way you'd think. She wouldn't let me give up. She saved me by forcing me to save myself. There's always light where there's hope."

Philippa discovered the final mechanism beneath a painting of Andraste's death at the hands of Archon Hessarian. In the depiction, Andraste's chest was open, her heart revealed for the Archon as he thrust his spear upwards. A much louder click than the previous two sounded and Philippa felt the air in the room shift. Natalie was saved from responding to Leliana further. "What was that?" she said instead.

"Looks like we opened something," Leliana said.

She and Philippa moved to the tall mural on the wall of Andraste being assaulted by Tevinter. The mural was split in two, revealing a hidden mural beneath of Andraste depicted as the Maker's Bride alongside her worshipers. The mural lifted to reveal a hidden alcove. A single altar stood with an ornate box atop it. As soon as Leliana saw the prize, she spun and pushed Natalie against the statue of Andraste, a knife to her throat. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Philippa approached the pair, crossing her arms. "How did you not see that coming?"

Leliana sneered. "They never sing the Benedictions here on Fridays, Natalie. Something so simple, and you got it so wrong. I wanted to believe, but you were lying from the start." When Natalie pressed her lips together and glared at Leliana defiantly, Leliana chuckled lightly. "Keep that pretty mouth shut if you must, dear. You've already told me everything I need to know. The prickleweed burs on your hem, talking about the sun rising through the Breach. It all points to a single place. Morelle in the Dales. Grand Cleric Victoire's bastion. She sent you, didn't she? Victoire was always an opportunist."

Philippa was impressed. Cullen and Carver were right. Leliana was scary. “We don't need to be enemies, Natalie,” Philippa offered. “Join the Inquisition. You're much less likely to have a knife held to your throat under our employ.”

“I was called to serve the Grand Cleric. I will not betray her,” Natalie insisted angrily. “Kill me then. I am not afraid to die for my beliefs. At least I still know what I believe.”

“Release her, Leliana,” Philippa sighed. “She is no threat.”

“The Grand Cleric...” Leliana protested, the knife digging closer to Natalie's throat.

“What can she do? The Chantry is already looking at two of our own to sit on the Sunburst throne,” Philippa reminded her gently.

“The Inquisitor has spoken,” Leliana said, stepping away and sheathing her knife. “Run. Tell your mistress that she has a choice. The Inquisition is coming.” Natalie left silently, her head hung low. Leliana rapidly approached the alcove to pick up the box. “No! This can't be it. There's nothing here!” she gasped.

“You said it yourself, Justinia was puzzling. Just because you don't see it now, doesn't mean there isn't something to it,” Philippa said, remembering how Leliana had told her that Justinia had been a cryptic woman in life.

Leliana examined the box more closely. “There is a message, carved in the lid. 'The left hand should lay down her burden'. She... She's releasing me... The Divine has a long reach, but it is always her left hand that stretches out. A thousand lies, a thousand deaths. Her commands, but my conscience that bore the consequences.”

“She apologized in the Fade,” Philippa said, the spirit's words finally making sense. “She said she failed you. This is what she meant.”

“All this time, Justinia carried the fear that she was using me. Just like I'd been used in the past. But Marjolaine's games were trifles. Justinia gambled with the fate of Nations. She needed me. No one else could've done what I did. She knows that.”

“It's practically her dying wish that you let it go. Stop torturing yourself,” Philippa counseled, laying a hand on Leliana's shoulder.

“If it were not for you, I would've killed Natalie and called it a good thing.” She closed the box and collected it to turn a bright smile on Philippa. “Thank you for showing me what was right when I couldn't see it for myself.” She cupped her cheek and landed a quick kiss on her forehead. Philippa balked momentarily, but was less shocked when Leliana quickly pulled away and said, “Let's get back to Skyhold.”

It was a few days before Cullen called Philippa to his office. She knocked and when she heard his voice answer, she stepped in with a smile. "You know if wanted to see me, you could have just come to my quarters."

He straightened from leaning on his desk to rest his hands on his sword hilt like he always did his smirk in place as he rounded the desk. "I didn't summon you for personal reasons, this time. No red lyrium, no allies, and soon Samson will have no armor. I hope."

"That sounds... mildly optimistic. Maybe with more confidence... from the chest," she coached with a frown, knocking on his cuirass before accepting the brief kiss he offered in the middle of the room.

He rolled his eyes and shooed her hand from his chest playfully. "Dagna's started work on her red lyrium samples, but she needs more details on the armor," he explained. "We found orders in the mine. They mention Maddox. A name I did not expect to hear."

She had read the letters herself before sending them to Cullen and wondered if he had noticed the other detail. "Those letters were full of crazy ramblings. What is a 'vessel', I wonder?"

Cullen grunted, letting her know he had seen it, too. "Perhaps it's a rank among the red templars. It could be a title from ancient Tevinter. Or it's some other role Corypheus has planned for Samson, and Maddox is part of it..." He shrugged.

"How did Maddox get wrapped up in all this?" she wondered, remembering the poor man. His affair had been what had gotten Samson kicked from the Order in the first place.

Cullen shook his head and paced away from her, casually strolling as if his limbs were stiff. "After Maddox was made Tranquil, he became a skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have... rescued him."

Philippa clucked her tongue and crossed her arms. "I still can't believe they made a man Tranquil over a few love letters."

Cullen scowled. "The official charge was 'corrupting the moral integrity of a templar'. Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offenses, as you know." His hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, and his eyes flicked almost imperceptibly toward the gardens. Then he cringed, his shoulders tensing. It made her wonder what the charge might be for their relationship. She would likely have gotten the brand long ago if they still lived in Kirkwall's Circle. She shuddered at the idea, knowing that Cullen was likely having the same thoughts.

She cleared her throat, pushing the horrible vision of herself from her thoughts. "Or maybe Samson saved Maddox because he still remembers what it used to be like."

Cullen growled. "Or he's shrewd enough to know an extraordinary resource. It seems Maddox built Samson's armor for him, and maintains it still. Tranquil in Kirkwall needed rare and expensive supplies for their enchantments... Supplies we can trace. I can have our men kick down some doors, Phil. Samson's armor might lead us straight to his stronghold."

"Oh, I love a good plan," she said with a chuckle.

He smirked at her approval and then approached her again. "How long will you be in Skyhold this time around?"

She hummed in thought as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "It's hard to say. I don't think anyone has any urgent needs at the moment, but things tend to spring up every time I think I might get a break."

He sighed heavily. "I know what you mean." He reached up to run his fingers over her forehead, brushing her bangs aside. His fingertips were cold to the touch and she sighed as he asked her, "How have you been sleeping?"

She reached up and drew his hand down to hold it between hers. "That's nothing for you to be concerned about." She kissed his chilled fingers, pushing a small amount of heat through her own hands to warm him. He had gotten much more comfortable with her magic since their encounter with the rift, but she was still cautious. "I'm more worried about you. Have you been taking proper breaks? And I don't mean a bite of jerky from your hidden stash and then back to work... I mean taking a sit down and breathing for a few minutes."

He flinched and looked away. "I have more important things to do, Phil."

She chuckled and drew his eyes back to her. "More important than breathing?"

He shrugged teasingly. "What can I say? My boss is _very_ demanding."

She pursed her lips. "In that case, I'm demanding you take a break. Your fingers feel like ice, and from the circles under your eyes, you're sleeping worse than me. Your withdrawal symptoms are verging on worrisome."

He rolled his eyes. "I just had to fall for a healer..." Then he sighed. "I'll take a break if you will. Go read a book, or spend some time with your friends... without offering any favors."

"You drive a hard bargain, Commander, but if it will get you to take a nap, I accept," she said with a smile. She reached up and offered him a kiss. "Sweet dreams."

On her way to the main hall after leaving Cullen to his break, she spotted Cassandra sitting on a small stool under the tree where she normally trained. She looked immersed in a book and Philippa changed direction to approach Cassandra. "Good book?" she asked, looking over Cassandra's shoulder. She _had_ agreed to read something.

The warrior jumped up in surprise, dropping the book and trying to shuffle it beneath the stool with her foot. "I don't know what you're talking about!" she yelped.

Philippa chuckled. "Oh, are we playing coy today? The book you just shuffled behind you..." She pointed behind Cassandra's back.

"Oh, that?" Cassandra cleared her throat, her eyes wild. "Just... reports. From Commander Cullen."

"I'm promoting you to spymaster. I didn't know you were such a good liar," Philippa teased sarcastically.

Cassandra glanced down at her feet, shuffling them nervously. "It's of no interest to you, I'm certain." When Philippa continued to smirk and watch her expectantly, interested now that she had made such a big deal about it, Cassandra unleashed one of her signature noises of disgust and picked the book from beneath her stool. "It's a book."

"Is it? I hadn't realized," Philippa pointed out with another chuckle.

"It's... one of Varric's tales. _Swords and Shields_. The latest chapter." As Cassandra spoke, Philippa saw Dorian leaving the main hall and he waved at her as he got closer, heading likely toward the tavern. She had noticed him getting more and more friendly with Bull in the time they were spending in Skyhold. It was an unlikely pair, but Philippa had found contentment in sharing private time with someone she cared for. She certainly wasn't going to begrudge Dorian and Bull the same happiness.

Philippa had been curious as to why Cassandra would hide what she was reading, but upon hearing that it was one of Varric's books, and the romance serial at that, she had to swallow a chuckle. She shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. "And your interest in reading is a problem because...?"

"It's frivolous," Cassandra said, her cheeks actually flushing. "There are more important things for me to do."

"That's just her favorite," Dorian said, obviously picking up on their conversation as he passed.

Cassandra spun to point and scowl at him. "Nobody asked you, _Tevinter_."

Dorian chuckled with his usual velvety hum. "I couldn't finish the last one you lent me. I actually feel dumber for having tried." Then he continued on his way with a smile and gentle nudge to Philippa's shoulder.

"It's literature!" Cassandra defended, then her tone changed to embarrassed again. "Smutty... literature." Then her eyes widened. "Whatever you do, don't tell Varric!"

Philippa reached for the book. "I _have_ been looking for a good book to read... Could I borrow it?"

Cassandra snatched it out of her reach, making Philippa smirk harder. "You? No!"

Philippa snorted. "Why ever not?" She was definitely no child and from the off-color jokes she shared with Varric and Dorian while they traveled, Cassandra certainly knew that.

"You're the Inquisitor," Cassandra said lamely.

Philippa laughed outright. "Oh, I _see_."

Cassandra sighed as she usually did when Philippa teased her. "They're terrible. And _magnificent._ And _this_ one ends in a cliffhanger. I know Varric is working on the next, he must be!" Her voice rose with her excitement. "You! You could ask him to finish it, _command_ him to..." then she seemed to realize what she was saying and pressed her lips together, her brow creasing as she narrowed her eyes in challenge. "Pretend you don't know this about me." Then she hugged the book to her chest and hurried to make her way inside.

Still chuckling, Philippa made her way straight to Varric. When he spotted her approaching, he grinned. "Need something, or are you just here to admire the dwarf?"

She sat down casually in one of the chairs near his and smirked. "I thought you'd like to know that our illustrious Seeker is fervently awaiting the next installment of _Swords and Shields._ "

Varric shook his head. "I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you just said that _Cassandra_ read my books."

Philippa shrugged, relaxing into the chair and lacing her fingers over her stomach. "She quite the admirer. So much so, in fact, that she blushed."

Varric lifted a single brow, his upper lip on the same side following it. "Are we talking about the same Cassandra? Tall, grumpy Seeker? Likes stabbing things?" When Philippa nodded, he shook his head in disbelief. "Wait, did you say the romance serial? She'll be waiting for a while, then. I haven't finished it and wasn't planning to. That book is easily the worst I've ever written. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink."

Philippa pouted. "You can't tell me you wouldn't enjoy handing that over to her. I was told, specifically, _not_ to utter a word. Don't make my broken oath in vein."

Varric cocked his head and chuckled. "Oh come on, that's just cruel. Even the Seeker doesn't deserve that..." He paused as the implications dawned on him. "So... you want me to finish writing the latest issue of my _worst_ serial. For Cassandra. That's such a terrible idea, I have to do it. On one condition... I get to be there when you give her the book."

"You've got a deal," Philippa smirked.

"I'll get to work, then. You know, the fact that the book is terrible just makes it more worthwhile, somehow."

Philippa decided to spend the rest of her afternoon visiting with Finn. She had a few ideas for the tall tower behind the castle, and she wanted his opinion. When she entered the infirmary, the scent of boiling elfroot reached her nostrils. She glanced around and noticed that there were no patients. "You're doing too good of a job, Natty. You're putting yourself out of business," she joked as she spotted him putting away some fresh potions.

He turned and grinned at her. "Weaver! Just the woman I wanted to see. I have a surprise for you."

"What's the occasion?" she asked crossing the room to sit on the edge of a desk near the storage room door, crossing her legs as they dangled over the floor.

He peered out around the door at her. "Nearly a decade of missed birthdays?" he shrugged. "Do I need an occasion?"

"Well, it so happens I've been haggled into taking the afternoon off, so I'm free," she chuckled.

"Haggled?" he asked, coming from the storage room and wiping his hands on a damp cloth before heading to the boiling pot on the opposite side of the room.

She sighed. "I convinced Cullen to take a break, and there were stipulations."

Finn hummed as he dumped the pot into a strainer and began to split the liquid between the row of vials that already had other herbs mixed up in the bottom. "I never asked how you and the Commander were doing after the little hiccough over your scars." He glanced over his shoulder briefly to let her know he was listening in spite of how busy he looked.

"We still haven't..." she flushed. "Taken the plunge... Who can find the time?"

Finn cringed. "I really hate that I'm about to ask you this, but..." he sighed and set down what he was doing to move back to the storage room. "I'm actually glad I'm catching you now instead of after there is an 'oops' situation." After plucking a few small vials of herbs from the shelves, he showed them to her. His labels were neatly written in the same curt hand she remembered from their letters. "I've tweaked this recipe a few times over the years, and it seems to have worked for Ariane and I."

She studied the different herbs and swiftly realized what he was offering her. "Maker's breath, Brissa could have used this before her 'oops' situation," Philippa sighed.

Finn's cheeks flushed. "I actually started work on this right before Uldred... My... My original intention was... Was to use it for us... It was before I comfortable in my own skin, but I knew if anything ever _did_ happen, I didn't want what happened to Brissa to happen to you. After you left, I continued the project, and once I perfected it, Irving started making it mandatory for all of the women once they came of age."

Philippa grinned at his embarrassment and then chuckled. "Could you imagine a child running around that shared both of our genes?"

After his eyes widened momentarily, he shared her chuckle. "I'm fairly certain he would have tamed the mightiest dragon he could find and then spent the rest of his years cleaning it's scales with a toothbrush and scolding it for singeing the curtains."

She laughed uproariously. "Oh, sweet Maker!"

Finn laughed as well before slowly sobering. "In all due seriousness, Phil. You're in a tough situation at this point in your life, and the last thing you need is to muddy things."

She thought about his offer, her stomach slowly sinking. Suddenly, there were tears in her eyes. She lifted her hand up to cover her mouth as she gasped. "I... I don't even know if..."

He set aside the vials and took her upper arms in his hands in a comforting gesture. "Talk to me, Phil," he urged gently.

"My scars..." she whispered, breathing deeply to get herself under control. "What if... What if they're more than just on the surface? I never bothered to check if there was any permanent damage to my womb. It didn't matter at the time. I never thought this might be a concern in the future..." Her deep breathing turned to panicked gasping.

"It's all right, Weaver..." he soothed calmly, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "If you want to know, I could always check."

She lifted her hands, dropping her head into her palms. She groaned in frustration. "I don't even know if that's ever going to be something I want in life... Or if Cullen wants... or if we'll even survive Corypheus..."

Finn squeezed her arms. "Don't overthink it. Take the herbs, start a regimen, and we'll deal with the rest whenever you're ready, okay?"

She looked up at him gratefully and inhaled a breath, calming her sudden concerns. "Thank you, Finn... Maker's balls, I was supposed to be relaxing." she dried her tears and chuckled.

He smiled sweetly. "I still have that surprise if you're still interested," he offered.

"Yes, please," she grinned.

Finn took her hand and led her from the infirmary and toward the stables. Just before the well where the Inquisition got their water, he took her up the narrow stone staircase that she knew led to the kitchens. They passed through the bustling kitchen, thick with the scent of roasting ram meat as the cooks prepared for supper, and then into the still unused dining hall. "I found this when I was wandering the castle one night. I'm actually surprised you haven't discovered it yet with all the sleepless nights you suffer."

She flushed. "When I wake up anymore, I usually gravitate to the gardens. Cullen and I have a routine. We play chess and talk until one of us starts to drift off." She smiled.

"Well, I think you might find this place intriguing," he said with his own smile, leading her to the far side of the room and opening a door into a tiny cubby of a room.

The air inside was mildly stuffy, and any movement made stirred up years of dust. She could see the footprints in the worn carpet where Finn had recently been inside. The walls were lined with bookshelves, making the room much narrower. It was barely wide enough for them to stand beside each other, but from a quick glance and the way the atmosphere hummed over her skin, most of the books were magical in nature, likely hiding secrets nobody had read in centuries. Much like Dorian's little nook in the library, there were pillows and lush carpets at the far end of the room so one could pick out a book and get comfortable for hours of reading. Candles burned softly in candleabrums in the corners. "This is wonderful," she mused, stepping inside and running her fingers along the spines of the books and leaving a trail in the dust on the shelves.

"I thought you might like it," Finn said with a smile. "It's somewhere for you to get away without everyone being able to find and annoy you. Except me, of course."

She snorted. "You're never a nuisance," she assured him.

"Well, now I feel all tingly," he joked. "How about we fix this place up and see what kind of secrets these books hold?"

"Best plan I've heard in ages," she said with a grin.

Many of the books in the basement library were elven in origin, though some were Tevinter and some were even more recent, written in an older form of the King's tongue. Once she and Finn had cleared out most of the dust and she had replaced the furniture with chairs that didn't waft clouds of dust into the air every time you sat in them, they got to work creating their own catalog of the room. They set aside about an hour each day in the afternoon to the task. It was nice to spend time with her oldest friend, like the interceding years had never happened. In spite of all the outward changes, Finn was still Finn, and she felt more herself when talking to him than she ever felt around the others. The only other person she ever fully relaxed around was Cullen, and sometimes with him it was even difficult whenever certain subjects came up.

Philippa knew Solas was well versed in the elven tongue, and she gathered a few of the more interesting tomes, hefting them up to the rotunda to get his opinion. When she entered early in the morning, Solas was sipping at a steaming mug. From the lack of aroma, she knew it wasn't coffee. When he cringed and set the mug down, wiping his mouth with a look of distaste, she grinned, setting her books down. "Something wrong with your tea?" she asked in a teasing tone.

He glanced at her and sighed. "It is tea. I detest the stuff." he straightened his tunic as he sat forward. "But this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I... may also need a favor."

Philippa's eyes widened and she leaned against his desk to regard him with shock. "A favor? You? Perish the thought," she joked, still smiling.

He stood and moved away from her, his shoulders hunched in worry. "One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept."

She pushed away from the desk, understanding how he might know about a friend in danger. "Of course I'll help. What are we fighting, here? Blood magic, I'd assume..."

He smiled wryly. "A summoning circle, I would imagine."

"I'm sorry?" she asked, tipping her head in curiosity.

"My friend is a spirit of wisdom," he explained gently. "Unlike the spirits clambering to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against it's will, and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade."

Philippa nodded her understanding, allowing his patronizing tone. "Did they need something specific, or were they just having a laugh?" she wondered.

He sighed and frowned. "No. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade. It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it."

At that, Philippa was decided. Nothing was right about that. Spirit or no, she understood what it was to be tortured. "Okay. We'll leave right away."

Solas looked momentarily shocked, but he smiled excitedly. "Thank you, Inquisitor. I got a sense of my friend's location before I awoke. I will mark it on our map."

The Exalted Plains. It was a place where the Elven people had both thrived and fell. The site of the Exalted March. Philippa could feel the call of the land itself as they neared the forward camp. It was as if the very air sang to her as it tousled her hair with a light breeze. "You feel it, do you not?" Solas whispered as she closed her eyes and allowed her feet to carry her as if she had been there before. It was familiar, reaching out to her magic like and old friend, much like Skyhold. "There is power here."

Philippa shuddered, rolling her shoulders. "So, Solas... Where exactly did you sense your friend?"

"It was not far. A bit farther west, Inquisitor," he said with a knowing smile.

She followed him through the grassy terrain, pausing only to close a rift that they happened across near a large elven ruin. She pouted at not being able to stop to explore the history, and vowed that whenever she had time, she would return. Not much farther along the trail, they found bodies, ripped apart by something very large. The sight distressed Solas, putting wind in his sails as he tracked further west. Finally they came upon a large demon of Pride, bound in a summoning circle.

"My friend," he whispered sadly.

Philippa took in the circle and the power radiating off of the unnatural stalagmites surrounding the hunched and hurting demon. Solas growled in anger. "Not any longer. That's a demon," Philippa said softly, understanding that much from the drag of binding magic inside the circle.

"Yes," he said gruffly, balling his fists.

She stepped closer to him and reached out. "You said it was a spirit of wisdom, not a fighter."

"A spirit becomes a demon when denied it's original purpose," he agreed, his tone enraged.

"It's likely it was summoned by some idiot to help them fight, opposing it's nature so greatly that it turned," she guessed, looking back at the demon. It hadn't appeared to notice them yet.

The demon hadn't seen them, but someone had. A scrawny man with a pale complexion and nervous, squinted eyes approached them warily. "Let us ask them," Solas growled as the man approached.

She recognized the man almost at the same time as he gasped with his own realization. "First Enchanter! You're obviously not with the bandits! Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We've been fighting that demon..."

" _You_ summoned that demon!" Solas accused, pushing his way past her. "Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it kill! You twisted it against it's purpose!"

His name was Adrian, if she remembered correctly. Adrian began to stutter as he spoke, Solas' anger palpable in the air. "I...I...I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can..."

Solas bore down on the man. "We are not here to help _you_."

Philippa held out a restraining hand. "Trust me... You really shouldn't try to explain demons to us."

"Listen to me!" Adrian said haughtily. "I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle..."

"Shut. Up." Solas said, clearly restraining himself. "You summoned it... to protect you from the bandits."

"I... yes," he agreed sheepishly, his eyes flicking to Philippa for help.

"You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned..." Solas turned to Philippa as well, and held out his arms in demonstration. "The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding, no orders to kill, no conflict with it's nature, no demon."

"What?" Adrian gasped in horror. "The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!"

"Inquisitor, please!" Solas begged her.

Philippa nodded. She knew enough from her studies to know how that particular type of summoning circle worked. "Disrupting the binding should be a piece of cake. We just need to be cautious not to get sat on in the process..."

"Thank you," Solas breathed in relief.

As soon as Philippa approached the circle and took aim for one of the farther spikes to destroy it with an explosive spell, the demon looked up and began to rage. They needed to be fast. Cassandra and Varric both rushed past her, using their own skills to shatter closer stones. It was an easy thing, and when the stones fell, the binding broke and the demon dropped to it's knees, transforming into a shadowy figure of a woman. Solas knelt before it, speaking in elven. "Lethallin, ir abelas."

The spirit spoke back, it's voice feminine as it's appearance, yet strained. "Tel'abelas. Enasal. Ir Tel'him. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir di'nan."

Solas hung his head as the spirit pleaded. "Ma nuvenin," he agreed sadly. Then he lifted his hands and Philippa felt a spark of magic before the spirit faded into nothingness and Solas took a ragged breath. "Dareth Shiral."

Philippa breathed in, uncertain what to say. "Well... shit," she sighed, upset that the spirit had to suffer and die because of mages. Mages from _her_ Circle. Mages that thought they knew better because they had learned all they needed to know from a book.

Solas stood, turning to face her. "Thank you for coming. Better my friend have a moment's peace before the end." He turned from her to glare at Adrian and the rest of the mages that had approached after the spirit fell. "All that remains now is them."

"Thank you," Adrian said gratefully, painfully unaware of just how upset Solas was with them. Philippa could feel his anger like a physical thing. "We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected."

"You tortured and killed my friend!" Solas growled, bearing down on them. Philippa was on his heels.

"We didn't know," Adrian whimpered, finally understanding the danger he was in. The bandits were nothing compared to Solas' anger. "It was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!"

Feeling his magic flaring, Philippa spoke a stern warning. "Solas..."

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders tense. As much as she shared his outrage, they didn't deserve to die because they were idiots. Philippa restrained her own magic, allowing it to the surface in case she needed to intervene. Finally, Solas growled. "Never again." Adrian and the others turned and fled with an urging glance from her. Without even turning to look at her, Solas said, "I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold." His voice sounded as if he were straining to maintain his professional tone.

Philippa allowed him to storm off, luckily in the opposite direction than the mages had run. She glanced at Varric and Cassandra and sighed. "I guess it's back to Skyhold..."

A day after they arrived back at Skyhold, Cole appeared in her room and told her that Solas was coming back. She headed down to the main gates and saw him striding along the bridge. She met him halfway and he smiled weakly at her. "Inquisitor."

"Guess I owe Varric an ale. I wasn't sure you were coming back," she joked cautiously.

"Neither was I for a time, but only a short time," he admitted.

She shuffled her feet and bit her lip. "I appreciate that you did."

He nodded. "You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now."

She nodded as well. "Where did you go?" she wondered.

He shrugged gracefully. "I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It's empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday, something new may grow there."

She frowned, never having given it much thought before. "What happens when a spirit dies?"

Solas seemed to calm as he reverted to his usual informative mode. "It isn't the same as for mortals. The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again."

"You're saying your friend might come back?" she asked almost excitedly.

He let out a soft hum that never quite became a chuckle. "No, not really. A spirit's natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew."

As his head dipped again in sadness, she approached him. "I'll stop bothering you." She patted his shoulder in consolation.

"All right." He paused and in a rare show of unease, he fidgeted. "I know it may seem strange to you, but I appreciate what you did for my friend. That matters to me. You matter." He composed himself and tipped his head before heading up to the solarium. She hadn't realized Solas respected her so much. He always seemed so standoffish and mildly arrogant, but she tried her best to be friendly. It wasn't everyday you ran into someone who understood your power better than yourself. It was good to have him on her side.

She was given further evidence that he respected her when he outright offered her the words that evening, coming to her room. "Inquisitor. I was... do you have a moment?" he asked with a frown.

"Of course, Solas what's on your mind?" she asked, setting down her quill and folding her hands.

He crossed the room and stepped onto her balcony, his hands behind his back as usual. She stood and followed, curious. She didn't think he had ever been up to her quarters before. "What were you like?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder briefly as she leaned against the doorway. "Before the Anchor?" he clarified. She lifted her hand to gaze at the dimly glowing mark on her palm. "Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your... spirit?"

She frowned slightly, looking away from the mark and crossing her arms. She smirked. "As far as I know, I'm still the same old annoying me. Just ask Cullen. He knew me before."

"Ah," Solas said softly, glancing away thoughtfully.

"What makes you ask?" she wondered.

"You show a wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected," he explained.

She snorted, pushing away from the doorway. "I don't think I've ever been accused of being wise before, yet you make it sound as if I disappoint."

He shook his head. "It's not disappointing, it's..." he sighed and hung his head as if searching for the right words. "Most people are predictable. But you have shown a subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I know of your people"

"I may not always get it right, but I do my best. It's all I really can do," she shrugged.

He smiled, then. "You are modest. So many would use this Inquisition as a blunt instrument in their rise to power. But not you."

"Wise and modest... You must be buttering me up for something," she chuckled.

He shook his head, still smiling lightly. "It simply means that I respect you deeply, Inquisitor. And I have disturbed you enough for one evening." With a tip of his head, he was gone, Philippa watching him go with a single brow raised in confusion.


	41. Samson's Stronghold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen goes with Philippa to confront Samson in his stronghold.

The next morning, Philippa woke to a note beside her bed that asked her to meet Cullen down by the training yard. She frowned, wondering what he might want from her as she dressed and grabbed her staff to take with her. She made her way down to the ring that was set up near the armory and tavern. Awaiting her in a casual tunic and leathers stood her templar. The morning sun kissed his blonde waves, making the lopsided grin on his face shine even brighter. “It's about time. Normally you are insufferably early to rise.”

She stopped outside the ring and put her hands on her hips. “What can I say? Our chess game kept me up rather late last night.”

She basked in the light flush that she drew to his cheeks in spite of his widening grin. “In that case, I'll try and go easy on you.” He pulled his sword from where he'd planted it in the dirt beside him and picked up his shield. She watched him flex his arms and roll his shoulders, getting comfortable with the weight of his weapons. “That's cheating,” he chuckled, pointing his sword toward her as she realized she was biting her lip as she stared.

She grinned, releasing her lip from between her teeth and said, “What? I'm not just here to watch?”

He beckoned her into the ring. “I thought, since we've had trouble finding the time to practice together, I would catch you first thing in the morning before you make your rounds and someone else steals your attention from me.”

She bent and climbed through the wooden slats of the simple fence. She took in his stance. One she had seen before in many templars. His feet were wide, his sword peeking from behind his shield that was pointed slightly downwards to block splash damage from any spell that might be thrown at him. “Would you like me to use my staff?”

He nodded. “If I am to learn to work beside you, I'll need to learn your body language on the battlefield. Last time, I didn't see you preparing to Fade Step. It was a critical error that almost got both of us killed.”

"And here I thought you liked to smite me so much that it was on purpose," she joked. Then she pulled her staff from it's strap and immediately began to slip in a slew of spells that she might use on any given rift. The runes on its shaft glowed in response to her attention and he watched closely as her fingers danced along the length of the wood. She explained what she was doing and he nodded intently, his eyes memorizing her movements. “So how do you want to do this?” she asked when she was done. “I don't think you want me throwing most of these spells directly at you. I might singe your delicate brow,” she teased. "What a shame that would be."

“That is where we come in!” Dorian appeared with Bull at his side. The two looked devious as they walked side by side.

“Cullen asked if I'd be willing to let you throw spells at me while he watched,” Bull rumbled with a grin.

“And I am to provide magical protection so you don't break our biggest front line man,” Dorian grinned, crossing his arms and studying his fingernails.

“And it's not even my birthday,” Philippa grinned, glancing at Cullen who was chuckling.

“Well, there is a catch,” Cullen interrupted. “I will be throwing in scenarios and quite possibly interrupting your casting. I'd like to see you work under pressure. Your reactions to certain things is key knowledge for me to have.”

She nodded and adjusted her stance to be able to sight Cullen as well as Bull. It was a subtle adjustment that she hoped went unheeded. He seemed to forget she had trained in battle magic. “We _really_ need to talk about your obsession with smiting me, Commander.”

She felt Dorian's barrier come down around not only Bull but Cullen as well. Dorian had noted her stance change, having spent so much time in the field with her. She grinned and winked at him where Cullen couldn't see and began to spin her staff as she uncoiled her mana from the spindle in her chest. Bull charged her, swinging a much smaller hammer than she was used to seeing him with. It looked comically tiny in his hands. She ducked his swing and reached out to smack his gut with her staff on his blind side. She had heard Cullen mention he left himself open many times on that side. She danced around behind him and flicked her fingers to lay a glyph in front of her that would explode with flames when he stepped on it. Then she backed up to charge her staff with mana, spinning it slowly to taunt and draw him to her, right through the trap. She noted Cullen nod slightly and her eyes narrowed. When Bull raced toward her, she realized that her carefully laid trap had been dispelled. She knelt and channeled her magic directly to her finger tips, disregarding her staff momentarily to erect her own barrier and block Bull from reaching her. He bounced off the barrier inches from where she knelt and she pushed to her feet and used his moment of confusion to draw a line in the sand with the head of her staff, marking the boundaries of the spell. When he broke through her barrier and came at her again. She balled her hand into a fist and punched the air forward. Spikes of ice sprang from the ground like deadly stalagmites making her cringe as they glanced off Bull's protection and shattered. Dorian's barrier was strong. She rolled under Bull's swing and when she came to her feet she threw a fireball at him. As he recovered and came at her again, she was suddenly blinded by another templar ability that they called 'wrath of heaven'. A large pillar of bright white light descended in front of her, making it nearly impossible to see where she was casting. She grunted and then held her breath to listen for Bull's footsteps coming toward her. She felt the change in the air as he switched directions thinking to sneak up behind her. She reached out with the butt of her staff towards the sound of his boots hitting the dirt. She connected with his gut, drawing an 'oomph' from him as she blinked frantically, trying to get her sight back. It returned in tiny white stars in her vision before clearing. She spun her staff once more, connecting with his chest again, this time with the ornate dragon on the head of the staff. She danced out of his way and dropped to one knee again to summon another spell to her palms. She did this hoping to trick Cullen into believing she was casting another barrier. He took her bait, the dispel falling on a non existent barrier. She grinned, and then flicked her wrist toward him the spell lifting a small wave of dirt that smacked into his shield and made him stumble backwards. He had not expected her to retaliate. She heard Dorian's snicker as he watched from the sidelines. Bull still charged her and she waited until he was on top of her to duck under his defenses and come up again with the staff and whack him in the side. Bull grunted and she dropped a cone of fire around him that blazed so hot that he didn't dare step out of it, even with Dorian's barrier. When the smite hit, she was ready. The air was sucked from her chest, along with all of her mana reserves. She dropped to her knees, panting as the fire around Bull died. Bull rushed her and she swallowed the strength she had left. She took the mana she had stored in the crystal at the head of her staff and lashed out with a stone fist, knocking Bull on his back. She planted the butt of her staff in the ground and used it to pull herself back to her feet. Bull was struggling to get up and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cullen taking advantage of her weakness and her distraction. He charged her and his shield barely connected with her shoulder as she backpedaled out of reach. He had used smite, thinking that as a mage, she was useless without her magic. Philippa had learned a lot in her months on the road fighting red templars that she had never been taught in the Circle. Cullen's greatest defense against spells was also his biggest weakness. The shield, pointed to the ground left his upper body all but exposed to her. When he kept coming, she reached out with her staff. The shaft connected with the barrier Dorian had erected around him, the shockwave realistically knocked him backwards and she took advantage of his arms flailing to help him remain standing. His shield lifted and she reached in to hook her staff around his ankles and trip him. He went to the ground with an audible rush of air escaping his lungs. She kicked his shield from his arm and put the butt of her staff to his throat. Thinking she'd won, she smirked down at him, but he used the flat end of his sword to slap the back of her knee. Her knee jerked and she lost her balance. He abandoned his sword and grabbed for her leg, pulling it out from under her. She toppled, too late trying to use her staff to stay upright. She landed in a heap beside him, but he was weaponless. She lifted her arm and flipped her staff so she could slam the head down into his gut. He blocked the blow with his hand, wrenching the staff towards him. She refused to let go and was dragged with it. She had enough time to recharge her mana. Her palm blazed with fire and she pressed it to his face where Dorian's barrier absorbed the spell. Cullen reared back as best he could with his back on the ground and her on top of him. “All right, all right!” he called for her to yield. She reigned in her magic and smiled down at him.

There was a chuckle from outside the ring. “I told you she's tougher than she looks, Curly.” Varric was grinning from ear to ear when she glanced up and saw they had attracted an audience. Bull was leaning on his hammer as Dorian checked him over for any wounds that may have slipped past his barrier. Around the ring, several soldiers and mages and even some of her inner circle were looking on as she had bested two warriors, one of which was a templar actively trying to take her magic out of the equation.

She glanced back down at Cullen who was gazing up at her in awe. “I think I should worry less when you ride off,” he smirked.

She got to her feet and held her hand down to help him up. “Do you think you know enough to fight alongside me, now?” she asked., brushing some dirt from his cheek.

His face reddened and he took her hand away from his face, squeezing it quickly before dropping it. “Perhaps a round or two more, if you're up for it.”

“Sure.” She picked up her staff from the ground and flipped it around a time or two. “Let me rebuild my mana and I'll be ready.”

“You were able to cast after I hit you with the smite. How did you do that?” he asked, in puzzlement as he gathered his sword and shield.

“After our little incident, I have begun storing mana in my staff just in case. It is not as effective as if I had spindled it directly from myself, but it works in a pinch,” she shrugged. “It's not a well known skill. I sort of devised it on my own.”

“That's brilliant,” he said, his eyes studying her. There was a twinkle in his gaze telling her that Cullen was excited, like she had never seen him.

"You look like you have news. There's a reason you wanted to do this today," she guessed, as he grinned in triumph.

He nodded, his grin widening. "We have him, Phil! We've found Samson's lair. My duties usually keep me here, but for Samson? I'll make an exception."

She looked him over, knowing that he was looking better than he had in a very long time. Their time together was good for him, helping to remind him to relax and indulge life every now and then. Philippa bit her lip, a thought occurring to her. “Samson still has that Red Lyrium Armor...”

“All the more reason for me to go. I would... sleep better, if I knew I would be at your side,” he said eagerly, his hand wrapping around her upper arm.

"Tomorrow morning. Be ready," she said with a smile. "I'll let the others know."

Traveling with Cullen meant traveling with a small army. He seemed to think that catching Samson required an entourage. Philippa didn't begrudge him the backup, but when they approached the run down temple and she saw smoke rising in the distance, she ordered the army to stay back while she and her small group went to investigate.

The entrance to the courtyard looked eerily deserted. Ahead, the stone building loomed, the smoke rising from a few broken windows. Red flags with the templar insignia fluttered from the pillars on the front of the ruin. “Are you certain your information was correct?” Philippa hissed quietly as she gripped her staff in the eerie silence, walking closely beside Cullen as they approached the Shrine of Dumat.

“This is it,” he assured her. “The heart of Samson's Command.” His face was screwed up in an angry sneer as his eyes flicked every which way, taking in the utter desertion of the place.

“Well, if this is the heart of his Command, it certainly is quiet. I would have expected a rowdy party. I don't hear a thing,” she sighed, her own eyes assessing the layout. Her skin prickled beneath her armor, and a shudder ran down her spine as her scar from Meredith's sword itched and prickled. The entire place felt stifling as if it could steal the very air from your lungs. She could tell Dorian could feel it too from the curl of his lip as he slowly spun his staff in his fingers.

“Nor I... Maker, tell me he hasn't fled,” Cullen growled before taking another step forward.

They moved as a group into the main courtyard and in the distance, toward the main entrance, Philippa finally spotted movement. “Watch your flanks,” Cassasndra announced. Philippa stopped walking and glanced to her left and right. Off to each side, there were a few of the red templars with the bloated bodies, standing at the tops of two flights of stairs that led up to the balcony and around to the staircase up to the main entrance.

The group automatically formed a circle, their backs to each other. “There are more up ahead,” Cullen noted, making certain that he wasn't the only one who had noticed them. “We're outnumbered.”

“That's nothing new,” Philippa sighed, her own staff joining Dorian's in a slow twirl between her fingers. “Varric, can you take the ones on the stairs to the left?”

“Your left or mine, Charmer?” he asked, a small chuckle escaping as he moved to follow her orders. She grinned in response as Dorian snorted.

“Dorian, if you wouldn't mind, love?” Philippa began to mutter under her breath the words that would call a tempest down on the Templars meandering ahead.

“My pleasure,” Dorian obliged. His barrier caressed over her skin as he laid protection down on all of them. Then he began to handle the bloated Templars to the right.

“Are you prepared?” Cassandra grunted.

She nodded, finishing the final words to her spell and crouching to draw the energy down through her staff and outward toward the group before them. “Let's go,” she grinned, wading into the fray past a small encampment, likely used by the watch guard before they'd arrived. She walked confidently, twirling her staff as she went, firing small bursts of energy at each of the Tempars in turn. Cassandra and Cullen rushed past her, both with swords and shields. She rained magic down on the unsuspecting templars who were attempting to group together and avoid the crackling lightning storm all around them.

As they got closer to the tall stone stairway, more Red Templars and a few demons came into visual range. Philippa targeted the fiery rage demon, drawing a glyph in the air before her and pushing the mana through in icy bolts that sought it out like a beacon. It growled angrily and began advancing on her. She dropped her staff head to the ground and drew a wall of ice up before her to spear the demon. As it attempted to melt through the spikes, she called more ice into it with a winter's grasp spell. The demon froze in place and she swung her staff around to shatter it. She turned away from the melting bits of demon and caught sight of Cullen bashing shields with a Red Templar. She saw Cassandra raise her shield above her head and swat one of the tall spindly terror demons away from her then chase after it to get some more hits in while it was stunned. One of the templars not occupied had homed in on Philippa and he came at her, shield held toward the ground. He charged, meaning to collide with her and she brought her staff around to crack into the side of his helmet. The noise reverberated loudly around the open space, echoing around inside her already aching head. The dazed templar paused his charge, shaking his head. She took the opportunity to clench her fist, pulling the air around him to form one of her crushing prison spells. His body seized, and he dropped his shield, going rigid. Philippa turned her attention briefly from him to handle the wraith that was slowly making its way to her. She channeled fire to her staff and pushed the head toward the wraith. The fireball shot from the dragon on the top of the staff and hurtled toward the wraith. It caught fire, with an unearthly shriek and she turned to see the templar fall dead as her spell ended. She felt a shift in the air on the back of her neck and she spun around. There was another templar nearly right on top of her. She reacted, Fade stepping away from him before dropping a cone of fire around him that swirled toward the sky. Varric stepped in to plant a pair of bolts in the templar's eyes.

Philippa surveyed the battlefield and noticed that he was the last of the threats. She opened her mouth to announce the all clear but before she could get the words out, a deafening crash resounded behind her. She spun to see that the door had been smashed from it's hinges. In it's place stood one of the behemoth shards of Red Lyrium that had once been a Templar. Philippa cringed. “Maker's balls,” she cursed. She glanced at her people, glad she had so many ranged fighters. She noticed Cullen tensing to charge the beast and she held out a hand, her heart skipping. “No! Don't get near it!”

Cullen jerked to a stop and threw a confused glance at her. “Why not?”

She didn't need to answer as the Behemoth demonstrated for her. It lifted it's large club-like arms and unleashed a roar before slamming them down on the ground before it. “That's why,” she flinched as small slivers of Red Lyrium showered down around them, shattering from the behemoth with the force of it's slam. “Varric, you and Bianca keep it distracted, but be careful.”

“You got it, Charmer,” he said softly to reassure Philippa before shooting a pair of bolts into it's head and leading it away.

“Dorian, you and I can whittle it down,” she turned her head toward Cullen and Cassandra. “You two _stay back_ ,” she emphasized. “I don't wish to scrape either of you off the stone before we leave here.”

Cullen gritted his teeth, and Cassandra huffed but they both nodded in agreement.

She and Dorian artfully combined their spells for maximum damage per hit, working side by side as only a seasoned team could. His cool necromancy huddled around her like a cherished friend. It was strange how welcoming his power felt in spite of the initial agony it had caused her before she had been able to anticipate and redirect the energy. She grinned over at him and he returned the smile with devilish confidence. Then he laughed and shouted something in Tevene that she didn't quite understand in spite of her lessons from Finn so many years ago. His staff whirled around and then he slammed it into the ground. A tall blast of purple energy licked up and around the behemoth. It roared and Varric glanced up at it before somersaulting out of range. Dorian's spell ripped the behemoth apart from the inside, whatever was left of it's blood, boiling. She felt the barrier around her shimmer and renew itself as he braced for the explosion. He did not use his walking bomb spell often, but it was always messy. She took a few steps back and shouted a warning.

Cullen was at her side in seconds, not fully trusting the barrier. It was in his templar training. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her down to duck beneath his shield with him as the Behemoth detonated. Pieces of the beast smacked into the shield, making loud pinging sounds as the crystal shards hit the metal. “Well, that takes care of that,” she said with a chuckle. Cullen allowed her to stand and she surveyed the stone that was sprayed with bits of Lyrium and sticky red blood. “Ew,” she grunted, stepping away from a pile of ichor. “You couldn't just use a concentrated detonation?” she complained.

“Why waste the mana?” he asked with a shrug, lowering his barrier and glancing over himself to be certain he didn't have any bits of behemoth stuck to any of his clothes.

“Because this way is gross,” she complained.

He flapped his hand dismissively. “Like you haven't been wading through worse in the bogs.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That's probably true. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Any time, sweetheart. Now, shall we head inside and see what our dear templar Commander is up to, hmm?” Dorian asked.

She smiled and patted Cullen's chest as a thank you for the cover before starting to pick her way through the mess on the ground around them. They met more templar resistance inside, but it was not much. The entire building had been lit on fire. The enemies they met were simply a distraction to allow the fires to ravage the 'temple' and destroy any evidence or clues as to what Corypheus was up to. “This place is a bloody wreck,” she pointed out, reaching for her mana to release a cooling storm and to stifle the fires so the smoke could vent.

“Samson must have ordered his templars to sack his headquarters so we couldn't,” Cullen agreed, his hard gaze falling over the scene.

“Sorry, Curly. Someone warned Samson you were coming,” Varric said with a cough.

“I think you're right. Still, we've dealt Samson a blow,” Cullen said, a lighter tone reaching his voice.

“Maybe not everything is lost. We should at least finish searching this floor,” she suggested, wishing she could do something about the giant blaze burning on the lower level below the atrium where they stood. Her magic only went so far. They moved through the entryway and toward the mezzanine. Through the main doors, the entire mezzanine was lined with red lyrium spikes, jutting from the floor and walls. Samson's personal stash, no doubt. Cullen automatically reached out and pulled her closer to him and away from the walls as the prickling of her scar turned to a thrumming call. They continued forward to see what laid beyond.

The doorway led to a large open apartment. All around, things burned and Philippa extinguished the flames. In the middle of the room, sitting and leaning against an overturned table was Maddox. He was sweating and his breathing was labored. “Hello, Inquisitor,” he said dully as Cullen knelt on one knee beside him.

“You remember me?” she asked gently, recognizing some of the symptoms of poison.

Cullen frowned. “Something's wrong... We'll need healers...”

Maddox glanced at Cullen, his eyes empty. “That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen. I drank my entire supply of Blightcap essence. It won't be long now.”

Philippa cringed. “That sounds unpleasant” she sighed, realizing that he had poisoned himself in Samson's name. Even a man who had no ability to feel emotion was so dedicated to Samson that he would take his own life.

“I was in pain, at first. Not anymore,” Maddox assured her in the same dreadful monotone that always set her on edge whenever she spoke with a tranquil. “I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape.”

“You threw your lives away? For _Samson_? Why?” Cullen gasped, his anger burning hotter than the fires outside the door.

“Samson saved me even before he needed me. He gave me purpose again,” Maddox said, his empty gaze returning to Cullen. “I... wanted to help...” Maddox cringed and the veins in his throat popped out as he suffocated under the poison. Then his head fell limp, his chin to his chest.

Philippa's hand fell to Cullen's shoulder as his own head dropped, his eyes closed and he shook his head. He stood, not rejecting her comfort as her hand slid gently down his arm. “We should... check the camp. Maddox may have missed something,” he said with a sigh. They spread out to search and Philippa immediately went to a small wooden table that was covered in papers. One stood out starkly from the rest. She pulled it from beneath and saw Cullen's name on it. She held it out to him and he took it gently from her hands. “Samson left a message. For me?” His hands trembled slightly as he broke the seal to unfold the paper.

“Does it hold some miraculous insight into his delusions?” she asked, moving to read over his shoulder.

He sighed and cringed as he read over the words. “Drink enough Lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You're fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general, and his vessel of power.” Cullen growled and balled up the paper to toss to the ground. “And other such nonsense. Does he think I'll understand? What does he know?” Before she could offer comfort again. Dorian approached her with empty bottles in his hands. Cullen gasped and sneered. “Lyrium bottles. Licked clean. How much Lyrium is Samson taking?” he asked, appalled. “His resistance must be extraordinary.” The others spread out again to keep looking for some sort of clues and Cullen's gaze returned to Maddox. “A dismal place to die,” he sighed when she stepped up beside him. “It can't have been much of a place to live, either, under Samson's command.”

Everything about this mission was getting under Cullen's skin. “What else do you remember about Samson?” she asked softly, wondering whether it was just the fear that he could end up just like the man. She hadn't dealt much with Samson before he was exiled. “The man he used to be?”

“Does it matter?” Cullen asked, forcing a small smile to his face. “ 'He used to be kind', only carries so far. Yet Maddox died to help him escape. Samson _does_ command loyalty...”

“We can't leave Maddox here,” she suggested. “He should be properly laid to rest.”

Cullen nodded his agreement. “I'll have someone take care of it. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less.”

She glanced around behind her. “Does any of this look useful to you? Or could it at least give us a trail to follow?” she asked.

He sighed. “It's hard to tell. All I see is smoke and ash. If this is Samson's idea of remaking the world, I prefer yours.”

She gripped his arm and squeezed before moving off to resume her own search. They didn't find anything more in Samson's space, but out in the mezzanine they came across what looked to be a small work area. “This must have been Maddox's room,” she said, picking up a few tools that she had no idea what they were meant for.

“The fire couldn't destroy these entirely. Whatever they are,” Cullen agreed, avoiding touching anything as she had.

“Those are Lyrium-forging implements. Of _remarkable_ design,” Dorian said in awe. “Intact, they'd be worth a fortune.”

“Tranquil often design their own tools,” Cullen pointed out. “Dagna should be able to make sense of them. If Maddox used these to make Samson's armor, she could use them to unmake it! We have him!”

That night when they settled in to camp, Philippa noted the far off look in Cullen's eyes as he talked with Cassandra. It would bother her if she didn't talk to him, and she got up from where she was sitting with Dorian and padded across the camp to politely ask Cassandra to borrow him. She took Cullen's hand and pulled him with her away from the camp and a short distance into the woods. “Are you all right after today?” she asked, stopping to lean her back against a tree and gaze up at him.

He shuffled his feet and his hand found the back of his neck. “Well, we all made it out alive, except for poor Maddox. I'd call it a win,” he smirked, dropping his hand back down to his side.

She reached out and took the hand in hers. “It really bothers you, doesn't it?”

“I don't know what you...” he began and she shook her head, bringing her other hand up to caress his cheek.

“You could _never_ become Samson,” she said with confidence.

He sighed. “It's just so hard, sometimes. There are some days when I... but knowing you are there with me, supporting me... It makes this all worth something,” he mirrored her hand with his own, her cheek cupped in his palm. “ _You_ make it worth something.” he pulled her away from the tree and into his arms. He brushed her lips with his, teasing before fully pressing himself against her.

Cullen sent a runner ahead with the tools for Dagna. The day after they returned to Skyhold when she went to visit him, he gave her an excited report. "The red lyrium deposits are being destroyed, and we've cut the red templars down to the core. It's a pity Maddox thought his sacrifice was the only answer. But that leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army, and enchanted armor he can't maintain. You did it."

Philippa smiled at him and crossed her arms. " _We_ did it. You were right there beside me, and you didn't even smite me this time," she reminded him.

"Well, I... thank you," he snorted, smiling as well. "But my work's not done yet. We're getting recruits by the hour. There's more than a few ex-templars among them. We've struck a blow and given people hope. This is a true victory."

Philippa had no chance to respond when Cullen's door burst open. "Inquisitor, I finished it!" Dagna had clearly been drinking coffee recently. "Are you talking? Sorry. Have it anyhow."

She shoved something toward Philippa and she had no choice but to take it or have it clatter to the floor. "Oh, it's a... rune?" Philippa asked, making sure that was what she was holding. It glowed red and she prayed it wasn't some sort of bomb.

"It's not just _any_ rune. I made it with red lyrium and what's left of poor Maddox's tools. The rune acts on the median fissures of lyrium to..." Dagna sighed as Philippa looked at her blankly. "It'll destroy Samson's armor. He'll be powerless."

Philippa laughed and pocketed the rune. "Powerless. Those are my favorite kinds of enemies."

"Maddox covered Samson's tracks thoroughly," Cullen said. "But wherever Samson's retreated, we'll find him. Your army stands ready, Inquisitor. For Samson, for Corypheus, for whatever you command."

Philippa began to feel like she was sitting on her hands waiting for Corypheus to find another way into the Fade. Leliana had spotty reports that he and the Red Templars had been seen in the Arbor Wilds, ransacking elven ruins, but no one knew why. One morning as they were pouring over the War Table, Philippa sighed in frustration. “I'm tired of waiting for Corypheus to come to me. How are we looking?” She was going to Corypheus if she could. Something had to be done.

“Our alliance with Orlais holds. For the present,” Josie said with confidence. “They will send aid on request.”

“And your actions at Adamant denied Corypheus his army of pet demons,” Cullen pointed out with a reverent smirk. “With Orlais' support, our numbers match his. Corypheus' followers must be panicking.”

“My agents agree,” Leliana said with a grin of her own. “Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

Philippa couldn't help but share in the pride. “We've beaten their 'god' twice over. Corypheus must be livid. Do we know where he's gone to sulk?”

Cullen spoke up, pointing out the Arbor Wilds. “After Adamant, Corypheus uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching south to the Arbor Wilds. His army clearly wasn't prepared to flee. Our victories have them on the defensive.”

“Good of Corypheus to make it easy to find him,” she snorted. “If he's hiding in the Arbor Wilds, that's where we finish him.”

“But what _is_ Corypheus doing in such a remote area?” Josie worried.

“His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven. We believe he seeks more,” Leliana said ominously. “What he hopes to find, however... continues to elude us.”

The door to the War Room swung open, her timing impeccable. “Which should surprise no one.” Philippa did not even have to glance back to see who had entered. She had shared enough conversations with Morrigan to recognize her sultry voice. “Fortunately, I can assist.”

“Please come in. The private war council always appreciates guests,” Philippa said, crossing her arms and smirking. “You have my attention.”

“What Corypheus seeks in those forgotten woods is as ancient as it is dangerous,” Morrigan purred.

“And that would be?” Philippa asked with a shrug.

“ 'Tis best... if I show you,” she said cryptically before walking back the way she had come. Philippa exchanged a glance with her advisors before rolling her eyes and following after the witch. She followed her out through Josie's office, the main hall, and the gardens into a small storage room near the shrine to Andraste. Morrigan stopped her at the back of the room in front of an extremely tall item that was covered in a cloth. Morrigan pulled the cloth off, revealing a huge mirror, squared at the bottom and arched at the top. There was nothing really remarkable about the thing, save for its sheer size. “This is an Eluvian,” Morrigan said, touching fingertips to the glass. Philippa could feel a slight hum of magic coming from the mirror at Morrigan's touch. “An elven artifact, from a time long before their empire was lost to human greed. I restored this one at great cost, but another lies within the Arbor Wilds. _That_ is what Corypheus seeks.”

“It's... beautiful... in it's way,” Philippa said, feeling drawn to the mirror. She had never seen an eluvian up close, nor had she ever been able to find out what they were meant to do.

“I found legends of an elven temple within the Arbor Wilds. Untouched.” Morrigan explained. “It proved too dangerous to approach, and thus I turned elsewhere to find my prize. If Corypheus has turned southward, he could succeed where I failed. The Eluvian would be his.”

“I'm familiar with the term eluvian, but I've never encountered one. What does it do?” Philippa asked, enjoying the hum of magic pouring from the mirror.

Morrigan smirked. “The more appropriate question would be, 'Where does it lead'?” She lifted her hands and touched it with mana. The mirror ignited with a bright blue glow, setting strange shadows all around them. Morrigan stepped through the 'glass' and beckoned Philippa to follow.

Philippa gasped and cautiously stepped through the mirror. In seconds, they were transported to a hazy, fog riddled land, steeped in elven magic. She could feel it against her skin. More of the mirrors stood all around at the ends of winding paths that all converged somewhere or another. There were benches and odd 'trees' that stood looking like perfectly rounded metal sentinels guarding short towers that reminded her of mausoleums. Everything had an ethereal muffle to it, even Morrigan's voice as she spoke, echoed off of the nothingness that surrounded them.

“If this place once had a name, it has long been lost,” she said gently. Philippa stepped ahead of her to get a better look around, but the fog was thick and she could not see very far in any direction. “I call it the Crossroads, a place where all Eluvian's join... Wherever they might be.”

“Holy Maker... This place is extraordinary!” Philippa sighed, lifting her face to the sky and holding out her arms as one might do in a rain storm to allow the drops to hit your face. Her eyes closed and the environment caressed over her cheeks with a light breeze. It was the first time she had been free of her headaches since the Breach opened in the sky. “Not to mention impossible. How are we even here?”

“Who can say? Formed from the fabric of time and space, perhaps,” Morrigan shrugged as Philippa returned her attention to the woman. “The ancient elves left no roads, only ruins in far flung corners. This is how they traveled between them. As you can see, most of the mirrors are dark. Broken, corrupted or unusable. As for the rest, a few can be opened from this side... But only a few.”

“What do you mean, 'a few can be opened from this side'?” Philippa asked curiously, still marveling at the very existence of the place as she worked out exactly what she was feeling in the air.

“Some of the Eluvian's have been left unlocked, like doors accidentally left ajar,” Morrigan explained. “All others are closed... They can be opened, only from beyond.”

“And how does one accomplish such a feat?”

Morrigan smiled at Philippa's curiosity. “With a key.”

“And _you_ just happen to have one of those keys,” Philippa guessed, since Morrigan had activated her mirror back in Skyhold.

“The key can be many things." Morrigan shrugged. "Each Eluvian is different. I have knowledge as well as power. Often, that is enough.”

Philippa looked around again as the light magic shimmered all around her. "This place isn't natural," she gasped as she realized what she was feeling. "It almost seems... constructed." Struggling to explain, she continued, holding her hands before her like she did when casting a fireball. "It's as if someone made a pocket within the Fade, with its own rules of reality." She inhaled sharply, dropping her hands. "If the ancient elves could do this..."

Morrigan nodded her agreement, looking mildly shocked at what Philippa had sussed out. It was likely Morrigan could feel nothing of the energies that Philippa could. "It seems remarkable that the magisters of Tevinter could ever challenge them, yes."

Philippa nodded, but as her inhaled breath seeped out, she felt something else. "It's deteriorating. Eventually this place will simply collapse on itself." She felt a pang of sadness at the loss. It truly was a marvel.

"Who can say how old it is? For now, it stands, and thus retains its value," Morrigan said with her own hint of sadness to her voice.

“As fascinating and invigorating as this is, why show it to me?” Philippa asked in wonder, not certain why Corypheus might want such a thing.

“This... is not the Fade, but it is very close. Someone with enough power could tear down the ancient barriers....”

“And waltz right into the Fade like he originally intended to do with the Anchor,” Philippa finished.

Morrigan nodded. “He learned of the Eluvian in the Arbor Wilds, as I did. He marshals the last of his forces to reach it.” She moved back to her open Eluvian, Philippa following close behind. “You have made Corypheus desperate, Inquisitor. We must work together to stop him. And soon.”

They passed back through the mirror and into Skyhold. Philippa needed to get this information back to the war room. Having seen the Crossroads and felt it's magic on her skin she felt their cause even more urgent than before. There was power there. Morrigan joined her and together, they explained to the others. “With an Eluvian, Corypheus could cross into the Fade in the flesh?” Leliana gasped.

“Indeed. The Inquisitor can attest that these artifacts still work if one knows how to use them,” Morrigan agreed with a curt nod.

“What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?” Cullen asked softly, his gaze fixed on Philippa with concern.

“Why, he will gain his heart's desire, and take the power of a god,” Morrigan said slyly. “Or... and this is more likely... the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart.”

Philippa hugged herself. “When we were in Redcliffe, I tasted Corypheus' future, and it was bitter. Best not allow him to gain his bloody heart's desire.”

“ 'Twas always so, was it not?” Morrigan asked with a shrug. “The madman would bury us all.”

“Pardon me, but... does this mean everything's lost unless we get to the Eluvian before him?” Josie asked, her question briefly silencing the room.

Cullen's fists tightened around his sword hilt. “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army moves.”

“We should gather our allies before we march,” Josie said with a sigh.

“Can we wait for them?” Leliana asked desperately. “We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.”

“Without support from the soldiers? You'd lose half of them!” Cullen pointed out.

“Then what _should_ we do?” Josie asked shortly.

Philippa watched her advisors slipping into their old bickering routine and she stepped forward, carefully placing her palms on the War Table. “Now, now, children, let's not allow Corypheus to worry us to death before he even lifts a finger. Imagine how embarrassing that would be..." As she paused to glance between them all, making certain she had their attention, she smiled. "Josephine, send out birdies to all of our allies and get them to loan us a few agents that can meet up with Leliana's speediest little scouts in the wilds. Together, they can throw enough hiccoughs into Corypheus' path to slow down his army until Cullen's soldiers can catch up and start dealing some real damage.”

Morrigan allowed herself a short chuckle before clearing her throat. “Such confidence, but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods.”

“We'd be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan. Please, lend us your expertise,” Josie said with a diplomatic smile.

“ 'Tis why I came here, although it is good to see it's value recognized,” Morrigan said, her head tipping forward as a smile lit her golden eyes.

“Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked formally. He was clearly ready to start getting his troops prepared to march.

Philippa squared her shoulders and glanced around at her advisors. “This has been a long time coming, and likely it ends in facing the most powerful monster in all Thedas...” she smirked. “Do get a good night's sleep.”

Cullen snorted. “As you wish.”

Leliana's amused smile remained as she said, “We'll hound Corypheus in the Wilds before he can find the temple or this 'Eluvian'.”


	42. A Wilderness of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa finds more in the Arbor Wilds than Corypheus.

Everything came together smoothly as Morrigan lent her aid, as promised. Before nightfall that same evening, the plans were in motion. Josie was tirelessly writing to their allies and Leliana had already sent her agents their orders on Ravens. Cullen's army was preparing to march in two days. The hustle and bustle left Philippa with little to do. She sat in front of the fire in her room, finally reading a book and trying to stay out from under foot. She could tell it was getting late as the sun dipped down and she had to cast a small mage light so she wasn't reading in the dark. She was so caught up in the book that she did not hear Cullen approach from the stairs. “I am exhausted,” he sighed, startling her as he sat down in the opposite end of the couch, scooting her feet out of the way.

She yelped, her mage light flickering out as she lost her concentration and dropped her book. “Maker, don't sneak up on me like that!” She playfully kicked at him with her foot.

He chuckled softly, catching her foot and his fingers, blessedly un-gloved, tickled over her arches. “I didn't 'sneak',” he insisted. “I'm certain I even slammed the door at the bottom of the stairs.”

She squinted at him in the darkness of the room, the fireplace the only light left. The dark rings under his eyes that indicated a long day of withdrawal present on his face. She huffed and pulled her foot away from him.”It just sounded that way because you have a headache. Come here.” She held out her arms, tucking one foot under the opposite thigh and making him a nest in her lap.

He gratefully closed his eyes and rested his head in her lap, shifting to lie on his back, his legs draped over the arm of the couch. She started by massaging his shoulders and worked her way to his neck and then gently called a light amount of mana to calm his headache. The pinch of his brow softened a bit and he sighed. “You are too good to me.”

“I'm just glad I can ease the pain. Even if it's a little,” she said, caressing her fingers through his thick hair. "Is there anything in particular that is concerning you beyond the imminent battle in the Wilds?"

He looked up at her out of the tops of his eyes. "I do not like having that mirror... eluvian... in Skyhold," he groused. "Corypheus may not be able to travel through it, but what if something else can?"

She pressed her lips together and shrugged, still rubbing his shoulders. "I mean it doesn't have to be scary... It's just as likely to be something good."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Morrigan claims that if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, a fleet of griffons will appear under my command."

She squeezed his shoulders in encouragement. "See? That's... extremely unlikely. But it would be _fun_."

"It..." he paused and thought it over, a small smile coming to his lips. "Well, yes, but that wasn't my point." He sighed, admitting defeat. "I'll stop worrying about it. As long as _someone's_ watching it. Even if that someone is Morrigan." After a brief pause while she continued to gently knead her fingers along his shoulders and neck, he reached down and picked up the book she had dropped. “What were you so enthralled with?”

She gasped and reached to grab the book from him, a flush of embarrassment burning her cheeks. “Nothing important. Cassandra lent it to me.”

He held the book from her reach as he chuckled, reading the cover. “Swords and Shields... isn't this one of Varric's books?”

She buried her face in her palms. “Yes. It's terrible, but I can't seem to put it down. Now I know why Cass was so embarrassed when I caught her reading it a few months ago. Her exact words were, 'pretend you don't know this about me'.”

“What's it about? I don't follow Varric's tales,” he said, flipping through the pages. He landed on one in particular with a fairly graphic image incorporated among the story. “Oh... I see,” he grinned deviously, his cheeks reddening slightly as hers still were. He tipped the book to get a better angle on the image and snickered.

She snatched the book from him and tossed it towards her desk. It landed with a loud thwack on the floor and slid beneath her sitting chair. “We don't need to worry what it's about...”

“You said Cassandra reads Varric's books?” he asked.

“Oh, Varric was just as pleased as I was when I told him. He even started to finish the series because he wanted to torment her with the fact that he knew her dirty little secret. I was there when he gave it to her,” Philippa sighed contentedly, remembering the hateful scowl followed by the grateful smile that she had suffered from the Seeker. “Totally worth it.”

“You're terrible,” he scolded halfheartedly.

“I thought that was why you adored me,” she grinned, leaning over him so her bangs fell over her face and tickled over his nose. There had been no further discussion about taking their relationship beyond their midnight chess matches and stolen kisses in dark corners, but the fact that he was comfortable enough to show himself into her room made her stomach flutter in excitement. She had taken Finn's advice and prepared herself just in case.

“Among other reasons,” he smiled, lifting up slightly to draw her lips down to his.

“Is your head feeling better?” she asked suggestively, shamelessly leaning far enough to crown his head with her breasts.

He chuckled, using a deep, humming tone he used only for her as she traced her fingers down over his tunic, plucking at the fabric lightly. “Much...” He took her hands in his and moved them so he could sit up and face her.

She wasted no time in shifting her own seating arrangements to straddle his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Did you lock the door when you 'slammed' it,” she asked, leaning in and worrying at his earlobe with her teeth.

“You have such little faith, Phil,” he teased back, his hands slipping up her back under her shirt. Then his own lips found her neck. She flinched as his hand caressed over her scar, but she swallowed the knee-jerk reaction and allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his hands over her bare skin.

She moaned under his attention. “Maker, I don't even care...”

Just then, a loud thudding signaled she had another visitor. Cullen tensed and drew back from her, sighing heavily. "Doesn't anyone in Skyhold have the decency to save their problems for the morning?"

She slumped, resting her hands briefly on his chest and then leaning in to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. "I should see who that is. If they're coming to me at this hour, it's bound to be important."

He allowed her to get up, her hand lingering in his as she sauntered away from him with a smile.

Their evening was irreparably interrupted. Blackwall was missing. She had searched everywhere for the quiet, stoic warrior and discovered he was nowhere to be found. There was a note tacked to the rocking horse griffon he had been whittling since they'd arrived at Skyhold. Her stomach clenched as she read over the scribbled text.

_Inquisitor,_

_You've been a friend and an inspiration. You've given me the wisdom to know right from wrong and, more importantly, the courage to uphold the former._

_It's been my honor to serve you._

Why had he left? They had just been chatting amicably a few nights before in the tavern. They hadn't been the closest of friends, but she respected him and she knew he respected her as well. As she read over the note again, one of Leliana's men came in to the barn with a crumpled up ball of parchment. “The spymaster has confirmed it. Blackwall is gone.”

“Go on... Leliana knows where he is, doesn't she? She knows everything,” Philippa said as the man handed her the parchment.

“She doesn't know 'everything'. Yet,” the scout said. “Sister Leliana had us search the Warden's quarters. Not much to find, except this. It was missing from last week's reports. I don't know what Blackwall's interest in this particular matter is, but it could be a good place to start.”

The scout left her to read. It was an announcement of an execution taking place in Val Royeaux. Philippa had no idea who the man was or why Blackwall would have taken the report. They were supposed to leave for the Arbor Wilds tomorrow. His timing was impeccable. He must have planned this. Philippa sighed. She didn't want to lose Blackwall. He had been tremendously helpful the few times she had taken him with her. They were friends. She wanted to help however she could. She took the note to Cullen. “Have you heard?” she asked softly.

“About Blackwall? Yes,” he said, studying her face. “You want to do something, don't you?”

She sighed. “I just want to understand why he would just leave.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Take your party to Val Royeaux. I will send Rylen and the men along with Leliana as scheduled and try to dig up something on Blackwall. I'll meet you in Val Royeaux and we can head to the Arbor Wilds from there.”

She rounded his desk to give him a short kiss. “Thank you. I think we can make it in time for this execution. Attending it will likely help us find him.”

What she found in Val Royeaux shocked her to her core. How she had not figured out that Blackwall had been lying the entire time was beyond her. They walked up on the dreary gallows, a light misting rain coming down around them. It had been a while since they had been rained on and she was surprised by that. It had been such a common occurrence before the change of season.

A man stood between a chevalier and the hangman, his hands bound behind his back and his head hung low as the chevalier read off his crimes. His crimes didn't matter and she tuned out the droning of the chevalier to look for Blackwall in the crowd.

"Well, this is grim," Varric mumbled as they prepared the man to be hanged, slipping the noose around his neck.

Philippa was in the middle of glancing at Varric when she heard Blackwall's voice ring out across the damp courtyard. "Stop!"

She whipped her head around to see him. He was about as wet as everyone else standing around as he climbed the stage to stand beside the prisoner. "A Grey Warden," the chevalier announced.

"This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him. Orders were given and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake."

"Then find me the man who gave the order," the chevalier demanded.

Blackwall looked away, his expression guilty. "Oh, shit," Varric gasped.

"Blackwall!" Philippa shouted, drawing his attention and trying to stop him from doing something stupid. She pushed closer in the crowd, knocking a woman carrying a parasol out of the way.

When he locked eyes with her, he spoke, projecting his voice so all could hear, but very clearly speaking to her alone. His expression was not only guilty, but regretful. "No. I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am."

"You," the man in the noose gasped, as if only just then recognizing an old friend. "After all this time..."

Blackwall turned to the man and looked at him reassuringly. "It's over. I'm done hiding." Then he turned back to the crowd. "I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier."

His eyes looked apologetically at Philippa as he was shackled and dragged off to the prison while the crowd gasped and mumbled in amazement. Philippa cursed and made her way through the slowly dispersing crowd, following closely behind the parade of chevaliers. She felt nauseated. Blackwall had been nothing but loyal to her and the Inquisition, and she had never even guessed that he was not exactly who he said he was. Varric touched her elbow briefly. "It's not your fault, Charmer. None of us knew."

"I need to see him," she said softly. Varric let her out of his grip and she barged into the jail, demanding to see Blackwall or Rainier, or whoever he was.

The walls of the jail were surprisingly dry in spite of the weather outside. Skyhold's cells always seemed to get damp whenever it rained. She followed the single narrow hallway down a flight of stairs into a dark cell block. He had been put in the farthest from the stairs, the darkest cell. She could barely see him as she approached, taking a torch from the wall to light her way. He sat stoically on a bench, his hands clasped together between his knees. He looked broken, defeated. She stood outside the cell, her heart racing as she studied him and he stared into nothingness, his eyes unfocused. Finally, he drew in a heavy breath and spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't take Blackwall's life. I traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, the man _he_ was, wouldn't have let another die in his place."

She took a few steps closer to the cell, the torch creating dancing shadow on the cold stone floor. "You just traded your life to save that man. That took courage." She found herself consoling him, even now after he had lied to her from the start.

"Courage?" his voice rose as he looked at her. "I killed innocent people... destroyed Mornay's life and the lives of others like him. One moment of courage will not make up for that." He paused and frowned. "Why are you here?"

She shrugged, not completely certain why she had felt the need to see him, to hear what he had to say. "Convince me you should be here."

He stood, shaking his head, his voice rising again. "Don't you understand?" He slammed his hands on the bars and shouted at her, making her take a step back with wide eyes. "I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about what they were doing! When it came to light, I ran. Those men, my men, paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man!" He stopped and his head came to rest on the bars. " _This_ is what I am! A murderer, a traitor... a monster." he sunk to his knees, still clutching the bars and refusing to look at her. She could taste his remorse.

"Corypheus is a monster. You are a man who decided that your life was worth less than another's because you felt guilty. If you really were a monster, you wouldn't have come here today. Somewhere along the line you stopped pretending," she said before turning from him and taking the torch with her, leaving him in darkness.

He truly believed that he deserved to be there. She disagreed. She had to do something. She rushed to return to Dorian, Cassandra and Varric so they could figure out a way to get him out of the Orlesian's hands. She was so determined that she didn't notice passing Cullen. His voice drew her attention behind her at the cell bock's entrance. They were alone, the Orlesian guards dismissed. “I have Leliana's report on Thom Rainier,” he told her, stopping her in her tracks. Of course Leliana had figured out who he was and sent Cullen to her with the information. She took the reports he offered her and began looking over the papers.

“Give me the overview,” she asked, a bit distracted by her own thoughts, the words jumbling together.

“Looks like our friend was once a respected Captain in the Imperial Orlesian Army. Before the civil war, he was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene's biggest supporters. He led a group of fiercely loyal men on this mission, and told them nothing of it. His men took the fall for him. A few lucky ones, like Mornay, managed to escape.” He said bitterly.

Philippa noted the dates in the papers she held and sighed. “Let me guess. Our spymaster had these reports just lying around somewhere, didn't she?” It would explain how Cullen had arrived so closely behind her.

“It would have been difficult for anyone to connect Blackwall to Rainier. Even Leliana has something of a blind spot when it comes to Wardens...” he sighed. “What do we do now? Blackw... Rainier has accepted his fate, but you don't have to. We have resources. If he's released to us, you may pass judgment on him yourself.”

“What do _you_ think I should do?” she asked, having noted the tone of his voice as he had described Blackwall's crimes.

His brow rose and he smirked slightly. "As if you'll heed any advice I give you."

Her own smirk flashed briefly. "Humor me, Commander."

His smile faded and he sneered, the soldier in him shining through. “What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable. He betrayed their trust, betrayed ours... I despise him for it...” his expression and his tone softened. “And yet, he fought as a Warden, joined the Inquisition, gave his blood for our cause. And the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it... why?”

She smiled sweetly. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were impressed?”

Cullen returned her smile, but only half way. “Saving Mornay the way he did took courage, I'll give him that.” He shrugged. “But I can't tell you what to do.”

She bit her lip, glancing back down at the reports. A heavy sigh slipped from her lungs. She couldn't deal with this now. They had other pressing issues. “Let's get him free from the Orlesians. I'll think about what to do while we deal with Corypheus. Even if I have him executed, at least it comes from us and not strangers.”

Cullen brushed her bangs from her face and then pulled her into a soft hug. “As you wish.” He kissed the top of her head and released her to go about her orders.

The Arbor Wilds would have been a beautiful place if half of the Inquisition along with Corypheus' army hadn't been setting things on fire and detonating bombs to route each other. The forward camp had been established and there was a general buzz in the woods that spoke of fighting among the trees. The atmosphere was charged and the mark felt on edge, her fingers tingling. Cullen rode off about an hour before they arrived leaving her with a chaste kiss and a pit in her stomach. Now she knew how he felt whenever she rode off from Skyhold. She dismounted and met with a Captain to get a reign on the situation. “What all have I missed, Captain?”

“The Red Templars fall beneath our blades, Your Worship. Commander Cullen says they're nearly finished,” the woman reported. “Our scouts saw Corypheus traveling toward an elven ruin to the North. We can clear you a path through his armies.”

Philippa smirked. "So, all the army has to do is keep the worst of the crazies at bay until I find His Ugliness?"

The captain crossed her closed fist over her chest in a salute. "We shall not flinch, Your Worship! Not a one of us. Andraste guide you, Inquisitor."

With her path laid before her, Philippa turned to her people who had already begun spreading out through the camp to help, and Morrigan approached her with a sardonic grin. "I wonder... is it Andraste your soldiers invoke during battle, or does a more immediate name come to their lips?"

Philippa sighed. “That is both insightful and anxiety inspiring. Thank you, Morrigan.”

Morrigan chuckled. “ 'Twas not I who raised an army of faithful to storm this land, Inquisitor. But I digress.... If your scouts report accurately, I believe these ruins to be the Temple of Mythal.”

“Should I know about this temple?” Philippa asked with curiosity.

“It is a place of worship out of elven legend. If Corypheus seeks it, then the Eluvian he covets lies within.” As Morrigan finished her explanation, several explosions rocked the woods nearby, the plumes of smoke and balls of fire visible from where they stood. “Let us hope we reach this temple _before_ the entire forest is reduced to ash.”

Philippa nodded her agreement and started to make her way through camp toward an exit through the dense trees that would lead them toward their destination. The Arbor Wilds reminded Philippa of the endlessly green woods of the Emerald Graves, though aside from the Inquisition camp, there was no sign of human architecture anywhere in sight. The Graves had been spotted with Orlesian chateaus and encampments. Their way out of the camp was an enormous hollowed out log that an army could have marched through easily ten men abreast. Moss and weeds clung to the inner walls as the forest grew around the marvel. She could see clear to the other end as it dipped downwards to spill them onto the trail that would take them to Corypheus.

"Listen to how close the fighting's gotten," Cassandra pointed out nervously. "It will be worse ahead."

Varric sighed as he followed after her. "One last push, and we can lick our wounds. I wonder if Corypheus will show."

“I hope you're right about this temple, Morrigan. I could use a building or two,” Dorian said with a shudder as they passed under the tunnel.

“Do the woods discomfort you, Pavus?” Morrigan purred, her tone taunting. She had grown up in a place like this. She was likely right at home.

“It's mostly the people trying to cut our heads off that manage that,” he snipped back.

"Do you sense the magic crackling?" Morrigan asked Philippa softly, glancing down at the agitated Anchor. Philippa balled her fist around the mark and nodded slowly. "Something more powerful than the red templars stirs."

That was not a comforting thought as the dark beauty of the woods suddenly turned sinister with Morrigan's words. On the other side of the log, the fighting was already happening, even that close to camp. Loud shouts, as they darted onto the trail, scattered a flock of beautifully colored birds, the likes of which Philippa had never seen. Their feathers were a bright blue tipped and accented with pinks and yellows. She watched them fly off as she drew her staff and then focused on the enemy. Red templars were engaged with Orlesian soldiers all along the road.

There was no time to really stop and take in the scenery as they fought through the battle along the road. Finally, they met a river and a reprieve in soldiers. Elves had once lived in these woods, but the ruins dotting the landscape were broken down and fully overgrown, indicating that it had been some time since anyone had actually occupied the Wilds. Not much further along they met a massive waterfall that flanked more shattered stone walls that seemed to have once been a bridge. There were red templars crawling all over the structure and wading through the shallow waters of the river.

Philippa pulled up a barrier and quietly made her way onto the broken bridge to launch a fireball at a foot soldier before they fully alerted their presence to the larger enemies below. Dorian and Varric drew the attention from her with a volley of bolts and spells while Morrigan threw physical magic at the water, splashing it upwards to blind the templars. Philippa, still unseen, dropped down off the bridge and began to slip in and out of the corrupted warriors and jam her charged staff into their metal armor, careful to not touch any of the ones with spikes of red lyrium jutting from their flesh. Cassandra waded into the water as well, swinging her sword at the general who was so far gone that his body had twisted and mutated so he was as large as Bull. Philippa danced out of the way as a few arrows started to splash into the water beside her. She glanced up and saw that across the water on another stretch of ruined bridge, there was a group of archers trying desperately to shoot far enough to hit them. "Varric!" she called, pointing out the archers.

Varric redirected his fire as she slipped away from the current battle to engage the threat on the bridge. Philippa Fade stepped up behind him, taking advantage of the ice armor it provided while casting a haste spell that would speed her whole party up. Then she Fade stepped past Varric and charged for the incline onto the high ground. At closer inspection, these were no red templars. They were Wardens. When she got closer, they resorted to their magic, dropping the bows. She dodged out of a glyph that appeared beneath her feet and rolled forward, stabbing upwards with her staff blade, under the small plate of silverite that protected the mage's chest.

A bolt to the face took out the next one in line, and Philippa jumped the corpse to charge the final Warden. He attempted to cast, but she threw a stone fist, breaking up the gestures and interrupting the spell. Then she kicked out, connecting to a kneecap and dropping him so she could whack his chin with her staff and then jam the butt into his throat. With all the emenies in the immediate area down, she wiped sweat from her brow and grumbled. "Bloody Grey Wardens. They must be the last of the enslaved mages that fled Adamant."

"If they are forced to obey him, death will be a blessing," Cassandra commented.

She didn't even want to think about that. They pressed forward through more woods and met the river again where some of Leliana's people were fighting more red templars. They skirted the battle as best they could, taking out a few stragglers and following the trail. Around a bend, Morrigan hissed. "There, ahead. An entire camp of red templars."

"Watch yourself," Cassandra warned. "Archers on the wall."

Philippa pulled her staff and cast a chain lightning spell to take out the archers with a surprise attack. The magic and falling bodies alerted the rest of the camp and the templars came from their tents to attack them. The fight went well until out of the shadows, lightning fast creatures darted into the fray and began to slash at both them and the templars with wicked sharp blades. Philippa nearly tasted the bite of one of the blades, backpedaling as the golden armored 'thing' flashed by her, slicing for her chest. When it dipped back into the shadows, disappearing from sight, a bolt flew by her and a meaty thunk broke the illusion, dropping the creature to the ground. Philippa frowned down at the prone figure and then swiped the blade on her staff across it's throat just in case the bolt hadn't done the job. When she looked down at her chest, she realized just how close she had come to tasting that blade. Her leather vest was sliced diagonally, but the padded tunic underneath that held most of her enchantments, woven into the cloth, was untouched. She had no time to react as more of the strange looking elves, she noted, emerged from the shadows.

Finally, Morrigan had enough of the darting elves and threw her arms into the air. The spell she brought down, paralyzed the attackers and broke their illusions, allowing the rest of them to pick them off one by one. "What in the Void? Were we just attacked by elves?" Philippa gasped as she rushed over to Dorian who was applying pressure to a wound in his upper arm. She cast a swift healing spell to deal with the deep cut.

"Uh-huh," Varric said in regards to her dazed question. He knelt beside one of the bodies, rolling it over to get a better look. "But they don't look like any elves I've ever seen."

"Perhaps these creatures are the reason few return from the Arbor Wilds," Morrigan suggested.

The rest of the path was littered with both the strange elves, and more red templars fighting the Inquisition and it's allies. She watched a group of her mages take down two of the red lyrium behemoths simultaneously and smiled with pride. Following the river, they finally made it to a wide open stretch of broken down civilization. The entrance to the temple was just as overgrown as the rest of the ruins spattered around the landscape, but it was much better kept. It's walls still stood, the gigantic statues of harts and wolves merely moss covered instead of cracked and crumbling.

She breathed a sigh of relief when they came up on the next battle. She caught sight of Cullen's familiar glimmering armor as he and a group of soldiers fought some Red Templars. The temple stood before her, but she wanted to make certain he was safe first. She lashed out, Dorian's barrier falling around their allies as she sent a chain lightning through the water of the river beneath their feet. Cullen's eyes shot up when he noticed magic on the field and she waved her fingers at him with a grin. He grunted, but not without a small approving smile. “Don't worry about me. The temple is right there. Get going.” he urged.

She and her party rushed through the battle, helping with a slash or spell if a Red Templar got too close. With one final glance toward Cullen, she scurried up the stairs to a wide open courtyard that led to a dark tunnel. As they passed beneath the man-made stone tunnel, sound echoed strangely through the stretch of corridor. Philippa noted that the supportive arches that they were walking under were shaped exactly like Morrigan's eluvian. As they hit the middle of the tunnel, Philippa could see out the other side to where a massive fortress stood tall across a wide yet shallow valley where the river continued around the structure like a moat.

"I hear fighting ahead," Morrigan warned.

On the terrace where they stepped back into the sun shining through the old growth trees, Philippa knelt down, signaling the others to drop. All around their feet were the bodies of more of the elves, some Grey Wardens and red templars as well. Through the balusters of the rail in front of her she looked down upon the scene playing out. A handful of the elves stood on a bridge that stretched golden tiles across the ravine. The one at the forefront shouted across an invisible line separating him and his people from Corypheus and his own group of red templars. Samson stood at Corypheus' side as the ancient magister held one of the elves in his palm by the face, clearly dead. The single elf's eyes flicked from behind his hood to the two statues that stood like pillars at the end of the bridge in front of him, humming with magic that called to her mark, then shouted. "Na melana sur, banallen!"

"They still think to fight us, Master," Samson said with a grin in his tone that she could not see on his face since he was glaring at the elves ahead and not behind him where she and the others knelt silently.

Corypheus casually tossed the elf corpse toward the rest of them. Their bows went up and the one at the front readied a staff as Corypheus approached, his deep throaty voice sounding terribly wrong in the peaceful quiet of the woods around them. "These are but remnants. They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows."

"What in the Void is a Well of Sorrows?" Philippa hissed, turning her head to Morrigan who knelt beside her. The witch shrugged and shook her head, looking puzzled.

Magic began to crackle as Corypheus approached the statues. He paused and looked at them but seemed un-phased as he pressed forward. Veins of glowing magic swirled along the cracks in the stone. "Be honored! Witness death at the hands of a new god!"

Corypheus stepped across the invisible line in the sand and the statues reacted. Thick tendrils of magic surged at him from both sides. His body glowed with the white hot magic and he growled in anger. Swatting at the tendrils as if they were an annoyance, Corypheus continued forward, grabbing the elven mage by his face and lifting him upwards to dangle over his head. The magic intensified, consuming both Corypehus and the elf. Philippa watched with her mouth agape as Corypheus melted down to the bone and then the magic over flowed, bursting outward and exploding the statues in a blast of bright light. She shielded her eyes and when she looked back, there was nothing left but two scorch marks where the statues had once stood and the corpses of the rest of the elves, so close to the magic that the blow-back had killed them. Samson and his red templars were already halfway across the bridge, seemingly unconcerned with Corypheus' untimely demise.

Philippa nudged the others and vaulted the rail to drop down near the bridge. Bodies littered the ground as they did above and she carefully stepped over them, not daring to believe what she had just witnessed. When Samson reached the doors into the temple, Philippa paused, hearing a wet gurgle coming from behind her. One of the Warden bodies she had stepped over was now sitting up on it's knees, twitching and convulsing as a horrible black substance leaked from its throat. As they approached, warily, the convulsing threw the head and body back and the ichor began to fountain upwards as a gut wrenching, unnatural wail gurgled forth form the same throat. The ichor covered the corpse, turning it a tar black and then it slouched forward. "It cannot be," Morrigan gasped as the mound of ichor molded itself into a terrifyingly familiar shape.

Philippa's heart leapt into her throat and she started to push her people away as the arm of the ancient magister jerked outwards, flexing it's new fingers. "Across the bridge. Now!" she shouted.

They all took off at a run and halfway across, she heard the shriek of Corypheus' dragon. It swooped in from overhead, pushing her to pump her legs that much faster. They clambered through the huge double doors, also in the eluvian shape, and then as one, heaved them closed as the dragon unleashed some of it's deadly breath down the length of the bridge. The puff of smoke that got through blew them backwards, but the doors caught and magically sealed shut, the split between them disappearing. Philippa gasped in a breath, lying on her back, her mind racing. Soon, Cassandra loomed over her and she reached down a hand to help her to her feet. She slapped her palm into hers and the warrior lurched her up, dusting her off with a few pats to her back. Philippa smiled halfheartedly at her before following Morrigan who had taken a few steps further into the courtyard. "At last," Morrigan mused. "Mythal's sanctum. Let us proceed before Corypheus interferes."

"You said Corypheus wanted an Eluvian," Cassandra demanded in annoyance. "But he mentioned a 'Well of Sorrows'. Which is right?"

Morrigan awkwardly scratched her head. “I... am uncertain of what he referred to.”

“You're not certain?” Philippa almost shouted. “You seemed particularly convinced back in Skyhold!”

“I suspected, I did not _know_ ,” Morrigan corrected with a sneer. When Philippa crossed her arms, dissatisfied with that answer, Morrigan sighed again. “Yes, I was wrong. Does that please you? Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp.”

Philippa knew Morrigan was right, at least in this. She turned and headed inward. “Let's hope we're faster than Samson.” As she passed through the room they were in to another outdoor courtyard, she clenched her fists. “I want to know how Corypheus keeps bloody coming back to life. I've seen him die, _twice_!”

“And his life force passes on to any Blighted creature, Darkspawn or Grey Warden,” Morrigan said thoughtfully.

"So _that's_ how the bastard survived us last time!" Varric guessed emphatically.

“We'll figure out how to kill him for good once we're out of the Wilds,” Philippa assured him, her own voice a bit shaky.

“ 'Tis strange,” Morrigan mused. “Archdemon's possess the same ability, and still the Grey Wardens are able to slay them. Yet Corypheus, they locked away. Perhaps they knew he could do this... but not how.” Philippa shook her head and continued through the courtyard. Ahead was a slightly raised dais. Morrigan pulled ahead, rounding the dais and taking the three stairs up. As soon as her feet touched the tiles on the ground, they lit up with a glowing magic. She ignored the glow and stepped closer to the carved stone before her. “It appears the temple's magics are still strong,” she said, pointing out what Philippa had already noticed with the door that had sealed itself.

Philippa approached behind her, the tile beneath winking out when she stepped upon it. “Is this elven?” she asked, unable to decipher the language on the stone. “Any helpful clues about the 'Well of Sorrows'?”

“I only recognize a few phrases,” Morrigan said gently, her nose wrinkling as she translated. “Ah! 'Abelasan', meaning 'place of sorrow'. That must be the well... There is something about knowledge. Respectful or pure... Shiven, shivennen...” she shrugged. “ 'Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the well is a good omen.”

Philippa shrugged, her elven not even as good as Morrigan's. “No use squinting at it any longer if it doesn't say anything useful.” She suddenly wished she had brought Finn or Solas with her to help translate.

“Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry,” Morrigan suggested.

“You mean light up all of the tiles?” Philippa asked.

Morrigan backed off and nodded, as her feet left the tile, it lit again. Only one person at a time it seemed. Philippa moved to her left, the tiles wrapping around the center of the dais. Cassandra grumbled as she mapped the best path to light all of the tiles without repeatedly stepping on any one of them. “Perform a ritual to appease elven gods? Long-dead or no, I don't like it.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "If need be. Unless you wish to turn back?" Philippa followed the tiles around the dais, lighting them one by one and returning to where the others awaited her. When the final tile lit, a click sounded from the top of the grand staircase up to the main doors. "Well done," Morrigan praised. "Let us see what awaits." They climbed the stairs and started to see some bodies of red templars littering the ground. "I see the red templars have already encountered the temple's guardians," Morrigan pointed out.

The entry door glowed with the same blue light that the tiles beneath her feet had, and it opened easily with a light push. They entered into a darkened foyer that led through another door which opened into an inner courtyard. It was as if nature had been purposefully allowed to take over the temple itself. More trees grew, their thick roots sprouting up from the ground to block your path, forcing you around them. Elven mosaics and writings covered the walls, carefully carved to withstand the weathers of time. Above the courtyard, Samson stood with a slew of red templars and a sudden explosion rocked the foundations. As the door slammed behind them, Samson spun to glare at Philippa and her people. "Hold them off!" he shouted before turning and jumping into the hole his explosion had caused.

Red templars surrounded them, and they had to fight their way free. As Cassandra slit the throat of a final foot soldier, Philippa put her staff away and charged toward the hole. "Samson's got a heck of a head start, hurry!"

Morrigan swiftly cut her off just before the hole. "Hold! A moment." Philippa ground to a halt, her eyes wide as Morrigan blocked her. Morrigan pointed behind her to another door. "While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination. We should walk the petitioner's path, as before."

"An army fights and dies for us. The longer we tarry, the more soldiers we lose outside," Cassandra protested.

“Just a thought,” Dorian added directly on top of Cassandra. “maybe rushing through this place like a mad bull isn't the best plan?”

“You see the urgency,” Morrigan said. “We _cannot_ find the Well of Sorrows unprepared.”

“Anything could be behind those doors,” Philippa said, biting her lip. “Who's to say they didn't make a hole because Corypheus knew something we don't.”

“Had they the option, they would have proceeded. _That_ must lead to their goal,” Morrigan insisted.

“Their goal? Or yours?” Philippa accused with a frown.

Morrigan held out a hand for Philippa to walk with her, away from the others. “There is... a danger to the natural order. Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder. Their passing has left us all the lesser. Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the Well. I would have it restored.”

“I am well aware of the 'legends' of Thedas past. I just didn't think you would care so much,” Philippa said, her own magic a testament to all that was lost.

“Trust me... Your surprise is matched only by my own.” The usually confident woman flushed a light pink as she admitted her softness. She sighed. “Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand. Elves, dragons, magic... the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true.” She smiled gently and began to pluck at her sleeve. “I read more in the first chamber than I revealed. It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows... but at a terrible price.”

Philippa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, nearly at capacity for things going wrong. “What sort of curse should we brace ourselves for if we use the Well?”

Morrigan chuckled softly. “ 'Twould be easier by far to advise you of a curse. This price is not so well defined. My priority is your cause, but if the opportunity arises to save this well, I am willing to pay the cost.”

“In my experience, the gains are not usually worth the cost...” Philippa scowled. Morrigan had no idea what the Well was.

“That is what we must discover. The rituals may point the way,” Morrigan suggested.

Philippa agreed grudgingly and allowed Morrigan to lead her to the rituals. They were just as before, though much more complex. The patterns were difficult to discern and it took them nearly ten minutes to get through them all. Philippa was sweating in fear, wishing she had simply dropped into the hole when a resounding click signaled the opening of the door. They rushed back up to the door and went through.

Inside was a large entry hall adorned in gold and brightly colored mosaics depicting different elven gods and goddesses. It reminded her of Solas' room back in Skyhold where he had turned the walls into a mural of her life since the Breach. An eerie feeling settled over her as they walked as a group into the empty hall. “ 'Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan's voice broke the silence, echoing gently off the tall ceilings. “What was this chamber used for?”

It did seem to have a use besides an entry hall. At the far end, a balcony stood a few stories above them, seeming to only have access from the inside of the temple. Other small doors surrounded them, leading elsewhere in the temple. “We're being watched,” Philippa pointed out, unable to shake the prickling feeling as they paused.

An elf appeared on the balcony, his arms crossed. Much to Philippa's surprise, he addressed them in the King's tongue. “Venavis. You... are unlike the other invaders. You bear the mark of magic which is... familiar,” with a wave of his hand, the anchor reacted, lighting up brightly before fading again. She glared up at him, closing her fist around the stinging. “How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?” Philippa began to take note of more of the strange elves gathering around, their bows trained on her and her people.

“Your _slumber_? What do you mean? Who _are_ you?” she asked.

He regarded her briefly before lowering his arms. “I am called Abelas. We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the Vir'abelasan.”

Morrigan whispered in her ear. “ 'The place of the way of sorrows', he speaks of the well!”

“It is not _for_ you. It is not for _any_ of you,” Abelas said sternly.

“So, you're elves from ancient times? Before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan?” Philippa gasped in wonder. She had heard of the endless sleep that the ancient elves called Uthenara, but she had never guessed it could be real.

Abelas shook his head. “The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.”

“Wait!” Dorian gasped. “That's not right! What are you saying?”

“You would not know truth,” Abelas sneered. “Shemlen history is as short as the pool of your years.”

“What did the Imperium do, then?” Dorian pleaded. “Are you saying it wasn't a war?”

“The 'war' of carrion feasting upon a corpse, yes,” Abelas agreed. “We awaken only when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The Vir'abelasan must be preserved.”

“What is this Vir'abelasan, exactly?” Philippa asked, her curiosity winning out over her need to reach the Well before Samson.

“It is a path. One walked only by those who toiled in Mythal's favor,” Abelas said cryptically.

“He speaks of priests, perhaps?” Morrigan wondered.

“More than that, you need not know,” Abelas said with a sneer.

“If the Well provides power, you're definitely going to need it to fight what is making it's way through your halls,” Philippa began, trying to reason.

“It is not power,” Abelas spat. “Not such as you could use, even if I permitted it.”

“Yet Corypheus' minions are here to claim it! Unless you've defeated them already,” she reminded him.

“We have not,” he admitted. “Trespassers you are, but you have followed rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart... and never return.”

“I'll admit, the idea of fighting the last of their kind... does not thrill me,” Dorian whispered.

She absolutely agreed. If they could get through this peacefully, taking the long way around had been worth it. “Consider carefully,” Morrigan urged. “You must stop Corypheus, yes. But you may also need the well for your own.”

Philippa ignored Morrigan and glanced back at Abelas. “Point us in the right direction.”

“You will be guided to those you seek,” Abelas replied, his hand waving toward a woman leaning on her staff and carrying a massive tome. She was a spellbinder. It was a rare form of magic, but after the fall of the Circles and the arrival of more Tevinter mages in Southern Thedas, it had become a much more common thing. “As for the Vir'abelasan... it must not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.”

He turned to leave and Morrigan shouted. “No!” Instantly, she transformed into a Raven and took off after Abelas.

Philippa was shocked, and she cringed. “Morrigan!” she called, fruitlessly. She was already gone.

The woman with the tome beckoned for them to follow. Philippa glanced back to where Morrigan had disappeared and sighed. Dorian spoke quickly as they walked, his excitement building. “He said the elves destroyed themselves, before my countrymen came along. Could that be true? I can hardly believe it...”

"They left someone behind," Varric pointed out. "A handy guide, maybe?"

“Mythal'enaste,” the elf said as she turned and began to lead them through a door she opened behind her.

“That's helpful, since Morrigan chased off on her own,” Philippa grunted. Shapeshifting was an extremely rare magical talent, even more rare than a spellbinder. If they made it out of this, Philippa was keen to pick Morrigan's brain, although she would likely get nothing from the exchange.

"She's worried about this Well, not Corypheus," Cassandra spat angrily.

As they followed their guide past all of the fighting on the other side of the walls, Philippa caught glimpses of the chaos. The Red Templars were ruthless, but she couldn't worry about them. She was here for Samson. The rune Dagna had crafted using red lyrium and Maddox's tools hummed softly from her belt pouch. She had guaranteed Philippa that it would render Samson's armor useless. She hoped that was true.

Philippa wished there were a way to record some of the wonders they were rushing past. The temple was glorious and full of history. Real, living history of the elves. Any Dalish would have killed to be where she was. "This place looks untouched," she mused softly.

"The entire temple must have looked like this long ago," Cassandra agreed. Then she frowned. "How could the elves pour such devotion into this... nonsense?"

"It isn't nonsense to them," Philippa pointed out, following the shuffling guide.

After what felt like hours, at the top of a staircase, the elf opened another door and ushered them forward. Beyond, a group of the sentinels fought a group of Red Templars. Philippa waded into the fray with her people, jerking the fight in the favor of the elves. When the last templar fell, the elves pointed her to a door off to the right. They broke through into a chamber that was partially covered, the rest walled in by plant life. Across a ravine, stood a tall landing where a constructed pool of water stood, the sun shining in from above. "The Well of Sorrows," Philippa gasped as the sight widened her eyes. It was beautiful. The magic all around tugged at the mark and she could hear whispers of spirits hovering nearby.

"Andraste guide us," Cassandra whispered in awe.

They hurried down the spiraling staircase as the din died down and Samson started to praise his troops. Philippa rounded the corner, an angry scowl on her face. One of Samson's templars pointed her out and Samson spun to return the scowl. She realized this was the first time she had actually seen Samson this closely since Kirkwall. His armor was impressive. It was a full plate suit like most templars wore, but instead of grey, it was jet black, edged in silver. Along the fissures in the metal, streaks of red pumped lyrium straight into his veins. From his forearms and his chest, shards of pulsing red lyrium stuck out like angry teeth. His greasy black hair was slicked off his face which was pale and leathery. The irises of his eyes were ringed with circles of pure red, giving him a demonic look. "Inquisitor. You've got a damned long reach. You've hunted us half across Thedas. I should've guessed you'd follow us into this hole."

Philippa stepped closer to him, casually getting in range to use the rune Dagna had made for her. "We've rooted out your lyrium supply around every turn. There's nothing left. Stand down, Samson."

"To enjoy the mercy you showed our brothers and sisters? No, thanks," he shook his head. "Corypheus chose me twice. First as his general, now as the Vessel for the Well of Sorrows. You know what's inside the Well? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour a world." Samson turned to gaze up at the well high above. "I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious Anchor."

"What exactly _is_ a 'vessel'?" Philippa demanded.

"What else empties a Well? I'll carry its power to Corypehus. One more task entrusted to me. Being force fed Chantry lyrium was good for something. This armor makes me a living fortress... mind and body. I won't forget a word of the Well's knowledge. Corypheus will be unstoppable."

"You're insane! Corypheus is going to rip the world apart!" Philippa reasoned, though she knew it was pointless. The red lyrium had done exactly what Dagna had said. Samson was mad.

He spun, taking a few steps closer to her, making her uneasy. "I'm helping him reshape it! He's had centuries to make ready. You're no match for Corypheus. Even if you drink from the Well, you'll never master its wisdom as he could." Samson flexed and his armor reacted, a burst of magic undulating along his limbs from his core. " _This_ is the strength the Chantry tried to bind. But it's a new world now. With a new god. So, Inquisitor. How will this go?"

He called her out, pointing with a scowl as the lyrium pulsed through him. Philippa reached into her pocket and took out the rune. "Blah, blah, I'm stronger than you. Let's see what you think of this..."

The rune, activated in such close, unobstructed, proximity made ripples of magic dance around it like a tornado, and then Samson's armor cracked. He fell to the ground with a scream of agony as tiny shards of the crystals on his arms and chest fell down around him. "What did you do?" he demanded. " _What did you do_? My armor. It's gone. The lyrium..." he got to his feet, his ire focused directly on her. "I _need_ it! Kill them all!"

Philippa pocketed the rune and immediately dodged out of the way as one of the massive Templars smashed a rift in the ground that exploded along the crack in waves of lyrium shards. Her staff was in her hands, her scar throbbing in agony, and she began to sling spells all around, using as many crowd controlling spells as she could to quell the herd of templars helping Samson. Samson grabbed a belt of Lyrium from one of the dead Templars near him and began to slurp down the potions two at a time. Philippa's disgust was manifesting as bile in her throat as she watched the sickening display. In another world, that could have been Cullen. She pushed the thought from her mind, thankful that he had been strong enough to overcome his addiction. Samson's body began to react to the Lyrium, the months of abuse from the armor and red lyrium catching up with him. Suddenly he was as large as Bull. He drew his gigantic greatsword and began to swing it around above his head, threatening her people. Philippa lifted her fist and a spirit version manifested to grab Samson and lift him into the air and slam him back down. He got up quicker than she had thought possible and Dorian began chanting. She recognized the spell and soon the ethereal purple spirits of Samson's comrades rose from their bodies and began to attack him. Philippa circled around to get behind him and then drug her staff head along the ground, a wall of fire manifesting behind Samson. She danced out of the way of the now flaming general as he continued to bat at the spirits with his sword. Varric took advantage of his distraction to pepper him with as many bolts as he could load into Bianca at one time. Samson was bleeding and he began to shrink back down to normal as he attempted to divert his power to keeping himself upright. Cassandra charged in through Dorian's pets to slam Samson across the face with her shield. The man reeled back, miraculously keeping his balance as he flailed, but Philippa reached out with her staff and hooked his ankles. He fell backwards and she drew a fist of the Maker to slam him into the water. When he attempted to roll over and crawl away, she slammed him down again, holding him under until he passed out. Cassandra and Dorian cautiously drug him from the water and Dorian checked his pulse. Before he could get a response, Samson choked and sputtered. “Not the Well, you wretch!” he gasped. “You can't take it from Corypheus... You mustn't...” then he passed out again.

"He's still breathing!" Cassandra gasped disbelievingly.

"We'll take him back to Skyhold. I'll find some way to deal with him there," Philippa said with a sigh. Just then magic erupted behind her at the dais base. Abelas appeared and began to run towards the magic, stairs appearing below his feet. “Abelas!” Philippa shouted, giving chase.

Morrigan easily got ahead of them as a bird and landed between Abelas and the Well as he crested the stairs with Philippa on his heels. Philippa bypassed him as he stopped, anger welling on his features. “You heard his parting words, Inquisitor,” Morrigan warned. “The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.”

“So the sanctum is despoiled at last,” Abelas spat, his eyes narrowing.

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan accused, crossing her arms.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers!” he retorted, his fists clenching. “Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.”

“Fool! You'd let your people's legacy rot in the shadows!” Morrigan argued.

“We have Corypheus' 'Vessel' sleeping soundly in our custody. He can't use the Well now. We're done here,” Philippa said, stepping between them, the voices of the Well clamoring to be heard in such close proximity.

“The moment we leave, he will send more forces to secure this place,” Morrigan growled, her voice raised as she turned her sneer on Philippa. Morrigan lowered her voice as Abelas balked, glancing between them both. “The Well clearly offers power, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said, much more calmly. “If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?”

“Do you even know what you ask?” Abelas said sadly. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on... through this.” He held a cautious hand out, approaching the Well slowly. “All that we were. All that we knew. It would be lost forever.”

Philippa could almost taste his pain. “What good is it doing stagnating here? You'd rather destroy it than pass it on to those who could put it to good use?” She asked softly.

Abelas glanced from her to the Well. “You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir'abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

Philippa held up a hand to Morrigan who looked ready to pounce. “I've rarely met an ancient magical thing that didn't come with a price for using it,” she said. This temple deserved better than being ravaged, and Morrigan had already warned her that there was supposedly a price that came with the Well.

“No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost.” Abelas agreed with a sigh and turned away to face the stairway back down. “The Vir'abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend.” He turned back to look directly to Philippa. “Brave it if you must, but know you this. You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound? To a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?” Morrigan scoffed.

“Bound, as we are bound,” Abelas corrected, his eyes flicking dangerously to Morrigan before he looked back at Philippa. “The choice is yours.”

Philippa looked nervously at the Well. "Is it possible Mythal still exists to exact her will on the drinker?"

"Anything is possible," Abelas said with a nod.

Morrigan shook her head. "Elven legend states that Mythal was tricked by Fen'Harel and banished to the Beyond."

Abelas scowled. " 'Elven' legend is wrong. The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder."

"Murder?" Morrigan frowned in surprise. "I said nothing of..."

"She was slain, if a god truly can be. Betrayed by those who destroyed this temple. Yet the Vir'abelasan remains. As do we. That is something." Abelas' shrug looked out of place on him.

"So, you're leaving the temple?" Philippa wondered.

Abelas returned his attention to her. "Our duty ends. Why remain?"

Dorian moved up to Philippa's side. "The Imperium went to great lengths to expunge elven history. _You_ might be the last to know the truth."

Abelas looked doubtful as he addressed Dorian. "Would the 'elves' of your lands listen to the truth?"

"Dorian shrugged languidly. "They might. Would it hurt to try?"

Abelas almost smiled. "It very well may, shemlen. Yes." He looked back at Philippa. "It may be that only Uthenera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken. If fate is kind."

“So you can just pick up and go? You've been here for so long.” Philippa asked. Where would these ancient elves go?

“After you drink, nothing remains to hold us,” Abelas said with a brief smile. Then he turned and without further argument, left. To have protected the Well for so long and to just leave, it spoke of the trust he was putting in the Inquisition to safeguard the knowledge. Could she do that, or would the spirits inside break what little hold on her sanity she still possessed?

Morrigan glanced at her and then approached the still waters of the Well. It was a large round pool, barely knee deep. Across the pool stood a large mirror. “You'll note the intact Eluvian,” Morrigan said. “I was correct on that count, at least.”

“Without the Well, can Corypheus still threaten us with it?” Philippa asked. Without his 'vessel' he might not dare drink on his own.

“You recall when I took you through my Eluvian, I said each required a key? The Well _is_ the key. Take it's power, and Mythal's last Eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.” Morrigan paused, breathing in the atmosphere that Philippa had been feeling caress over her skin since the moment they entered the chamber. “I did not expect the Well to feel so... hungry.”

“That's certainly something that might throw up a warning flag,” Philippa quipped, her voice shuddering as the voices threatened to choke her.

“Knowledge begets a hunger for more,” Morrigan said, her eyes glued to the Well. She finally dragged her gaze away to look back at Philippa. “I am willing to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

"I do not like this. She is far too eager," Cassandra interrupted. If only she could feel the yearning in Philippa's own gut that was screaming for her to dive into the shallow pool and overwhelm herself.

Morrigan shrugged. "I do not hide it. To restore lost knowledge, I would risk much."

"And what would you do with it? You could be worse than Corypheus," Cassandra accused in return.

"So paralyze yourself for fear of what might be? I can give nothing but my word," Morrigan sighed. Philippa knew how much Morrigan wanted the Well, and that desire was what gave her pause in handing it over. “Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of this. Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

“You seem to be forgetting that you are not the only mage here,” Philippa said, crossing her arms. She had probably studied as much lore and history as Morrigan had in her quest to master her own abilities. If that wasn't training, she didn't know what was.

“I have studied the oldest lore. I have delved into mysteries of which you could only dream! Can you honestly tell me there is anyone better suited?” Morrigan demanded.

Philippa bit her lip and nodded gently. “I would be...” Even as much as she feared having all of those voices inside her head, the things she could learn from the Well were drawing her in.

“You lead the Inquisition. This is not a risk you can take,” Morrigan reasoned, but to Philippa that simply made her the perfect candidate. The leader took the risk. That was how it worked. “I have the best chance of making use of the Well... for everyone. Let me drink.”

“And the fact that drinking will bind you to the will of Mythal for the foreseeable forever doesn't bother you?” Philippa asked, thinking of Morrigan's responsibility to Kieran and trying to keep from inching closer to the water's edge.

“Bound to the will of a dead god? It seems an empty warning,” Morrigan said with a small smile. “Perhaps a compulsion yet remains. Who can say otherwise? I do not fear it, even so.”

Philippa dragged her attention from the calling voices, shuddering. “As much as I really don't want to suggest this, Abelas might have been right to destroy the Well.” Philippa sighed, looking again out over the clear, still water.

“What happens when Corypheus comes for you again? He is _immortal_. The wisdom of the Well may include a way to destroy him. Give me this, and I fight at your side. I shall be your sword,” Morrigan urged.

Philippa suddenly discovered exactly what she was feeling as her mind raced, dwelling on the possibilities on the Well. “Standing here staring at this thing and listening to the whispers seeping through the cracks... It doesn't just hold whatever knowledge the ancient priests wanted to pass on. It's their _will_...” she gasped.

“How would _you_ know such a thing?” Morrigan asked, her eyes falling on Philippa as if she had never seen her before. It was easy to forget that not everyone in the Inquisition was privy to her circumstances.

“ _That's_ what Abelas was going on about. Anyone who drinks from the Well is submitting to the compulsion of whatever remains of their collective will. It's so strong... Can't you feel it?” Philippa almost sang, her heart beating rhythmically with the magic all around.

“That... _would_ match the legends, but it does not tell us what the geas entails,” Morrigan said shakily. “I would still use the Well, but you are right. We must be cautious.”

“Thoughts?” Philippa asked, turning to her companions, unable to physically make a decision around the humming of her skin.

Dorian shook his head almost immediately, likely feeling the pull of the Well himself as Morrigan did. “It all seems ghoulish. Let Morrigan use it, if she wants it so much.”

"If it is truly between you and her... Then let _her_ take the risk. Maker help us all," Cassandra said grudgingly.

Varric sighed heavily. "You're asking me? This is a lot of... weird. I barely understand how any of this works."

Philippa glanced back at the Well, again worrying at her lip with her teeth. Her gut was telling her that it should be her. “Enough deliberation,” Morrigan said with a swipe of her hand. “Give me your decision.”

Grudgingly, Philippa nodded, backing away, her feet like lead as she attempted to shut out the voices. In a choked tone, she said, "It's yours." She wished Morrigan had just let Abelas destroy the damned thing. She could feel the voices, scratching to be let in. She understood as she attempted to regain herself that no matter how much she craved the knowledge, there was no way she would survive the slew of those voices inside her head.

Morrigan smiled widely and then slowly stepped down into the pool of water. She trailed her fingers over the rippling waters as she passed to the deepest part in the middle, blue wisps of magic clouding up around her. She turned to face them again with her smile still intact. Then she dropped into the water, submerging herself. The water around her began to bubble and then swiftly it rose up in a wave and splashed down around all of them, emptying the Well completely. Philippa remained unconcerned that she was not even damp after the splash of water as she rushed toward Morrigan who laid on her back, her eyes closed. The voices immediately silenced.

"Morrigan!" she dropped to her knees and touched the other mage's arm.

Morrigan shot up, mumbling and gasping, touching her face and body. "Ellasin selah! Vissan... Vissanalla..." She stood and looked around as if confused, then shook her head as Philippa tried to steady her. "I... I am intact. There is much to sift through... but now we can..." she stopped talking and gasped as the remaining magic of the Well whispered around her ankles like playful spirits. They danced from Morrigan to Philippa, tickling her skin through her clothing. Morrigan smiled as she turned in place, but the expression faded and then she pointed toward the entrance across the ravine. Corypheus had come strolling in as if he expected Samson to be waiting for him, full of the Well of Sorrows. Philippa heard his scream of rage from across the open space, her stomach sinking in dread. They weren't prepared to fight Corypheus here. Morrigan turned as he took to the air, hovering with his magic. "The eluvian!" she cried.

The mirror burst to life at a gesture from Morrigan and then she darted for it. "Through the mirror!" Philippa demanded, pausing just shy of crossing through herself to shove the others in. Corypheus gained on them, and as Dorian charged through the opening, she saw a feminine figure rush upwards from the remnants of the Well and block Corypheus' path. Philippa lunged through the eluvian, and Morrigan closed it behind her. Seconds later, the mirror went dark, small silvery cracks forming in the blackened glass. "What happened?" Philippa asked, touching the cold surface. The magic was dead.

"The eluvian shattered," Morrigan explained calmly.

"So we're stuck here?" Varric asked, his eyes darting all around as he frowned.

"No," Morrigan said. "I will guide us back to the other eluvian that resides in Skyhold. It should only take us a few weeks at the most."

"A few weeks?!" Philippa demanded, her heart beginning to race in fear, her hand dropping from the mirror. "What about the army?"

Morrigan shrugged calmly. "I doubt Corypheus will linger now that his prize has been taken from him."

Philippa crossed her arms and spat angrily. "Is that your professional opinion?"

"Easy, Charmer," Varric said softly, touching her arm. "The sooner we start moving, the sooner we'll be back in Skyhold."

Philippa and Morrigan shared a glare before Morrigan tipped her head to the left. "This way," she announced, starting off in the direction she had indicated.

Philippa glanced at the others and with a sigh, started after Morrigan. Dorian caught up to her side and hooked their arms, patting the top of her trembling hand. His voice was low as he spoke, drifting toward the rear of the group. "The Commander will be just fine, darling. I tend to agree with Morrigan. Corypheus has no reason to linger in the Wilds. His army is shattered and we have the power of the Well."

Philippa sighed, holding tightly to Dorian's arm. "I hope you're right.


	43. Dreaming of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they make their way through the Crossroads, Philippa does her best to keep her Commander intact until she sees him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bothered me that there was no 'get through the Crossroads' quest after the Arbor Wilds, and I always add them to my stories for an added layer of urgency.

They wandered, seemingly aimlessly for three days as Philippa yearned for an escape from the Crossroads in spite of how peaceful her head felt without the interference of all the demons that normally hovered around her. Finally, as they stopped for the night on the third day, she forced herself to remain awake for a few hours beyond the others to be certain Cullen was asleep. She needed to see him. She didn't know if she would be able to visit his dreams from the Crossroads, or even if it was night outside the magical realm, but she intended to try.

She moved away from the group as they slept, and sat beneath one of the rounded metal trees. She crossed her legs and touched a hand to her bracelet, studying the press of the Fade around her. Morrigan was right. They were a mere lateral shift away from the Fade while they walked the Crossroads. She could feel it in her bones that if she tugged hard enough, she could wipe away the Crossroads and land them in the Fade. Ignoring the brief temptation that washed through her, she closed her eyes and reached into the Fade, moving herself instead of the environment around her.

She couldn't recognize where they might be from her surroundings, but that didn't matter. Her goal was to reach Cullen. She reached out with her power, searching for his aura, remembering how he felt from the last time she had dared to walk in his dreams. She had promised never to do this again, but she needed to know he was all right.

She followed the hum of his mind, linked physically with a piece of herself. Then she realized, he was still carrying her phylactery. Homing in on the small vial of her own blood, she made her way across the miles to where Cullen slept. When she found him, she parted the Veil and stepped into his dream, sighing in relief that he was at least alive. His mental state was a different story. She glanced around, frowning. It took a moment for her to realize that they were back in Kinloch Hold in the small room at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the Harrowing Chamber. Cullen knelt, rocking back and forth on his knees, his hands clasped before his bowed head. He repeated a mumbled phrase as he rocked. "It's too soon... it's too soon... it's too soon..." Around his kneeling form, a tall, cylindrical barrier of magic hummed around him. Had this been how he had been trapped during the coup? The space was barely large enough for him to kneel in, let alone, lie down. With all of the demons that had been walking the halls during his incarceration, he must have been easy prey for them to manifest in any shape and taunt him endlessly. Between the lack of sleep, the probable lyrium withdrawal, hunger and thirst, and the mental torture, it was a wonder he had ever bounced back from the experience. Her heart ached as she watched him suffering, even though this was only a dream. How often did he relive this nightmare in his dreams? She touched fingers to the illusion and received a jolt in return. His eyes snapped up to look at her, a frown forming on his brow. His amber eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. "No, no, no. You're not here. You're not real." He dipped his head back down and began to rock again.

Before she could interfere, the world shifted around her and she was dropped in the room where Maddox had died. The red lyrium surrounding her seemed to reach out toward her as she moved way from it. Ignoring the manipulations of the Fade with a shudder, she looked around for Cullen. She found him again on his knees. Another body laid beside him, hugged up against his chest. She moved around the scene, his shoulders trembling. When she saw who he was holding, she gasped. His dreaming self ignored her this time, hugging her doppelganger closer against him. Silent tears dripped down his cheeks before he spoke in a trembling voice. "I wasn't fast enough."

The doppelganger suddenly disappeared from his arms and he lurched forward, grabbing for her as she reappeared in front of him, her head held at an unnatural angle and her eyes emotionless and empty. "It's your fault, Cullen. You were supposed to protect me. Why did you let me die?" Blood dribbled from her parted lips as she accused him.

As Cullen choked, his head hanging low, Philippa growled and grabbed hold of the dream, banishing the taunting demon with a gesture. She swiftly replaced Samson's corrupted room with an image of their gazebo. Then she crossed the space between them and knelt in front of Cullen's dream self. She took his cheek in her palm and brushed away his tears before steadily waking him up inside the dream. "Cullen," she whispered softly.

His head jerked up and he lurched away from her. With a growl, he got to his feet. "Haven't you had enough!?"

She understood that he still believed he was dreaming, and she held up her palms in placation. "I'm no spirit, Cullen. I promise."

He snorted angrily. "As if I could trust you! You may have taken her shape, but I know this can't be real. Hawke is dead."

She took a step toward him and he took an equal step back. Her heart lurched. "I'm not dead, Cullen. We went through the Eluvian and it shattered. We are traveling back to Skyhold via the Crossroads. I was afraid Corypheus might retaliate after he lost the Well. I needed to see you..."

"Don't spout your lies, demon. Her phylactery is dark..." he growled. "Be gone! I would mourn the woman I loved in peace."

Philippa gasped, her heart fluttering. "You love me?"

Cullen's eyes narrowed. "I loved _her_! You are an imitation."

"When have you ever had a dream this vivid, Cullen?" she pleaded, stepping toward him once more, only to have him shift away again. She felt tears in her own eyes. "You know what I am! Ask Carver. He knows what I can do!"

"I won't believe anything you say," he insisted, driving a dagger into her heart that allowed the tears that were threatening to spill freely.

Philippa sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself, as she wracked her brain to think of anything to say that might convince him. Finally, she thought about their chess game, left sitting on the table back in Skyhold, unfinished. She looked up, hopefully. "Knight to C5, Check."

His eyes narrowed, and she could see hope flicker across his own expression before he crushed it back beneath his boot. "I'm well aware you can read my thoughts. Whatever trick you're planning... I'll not be convinced by anything you say."

Unable to bear his glare of hatred any longer, Philippa swallowed her tears and nodded. "I... I understand. Sleep well, my lion."

She wove a spell to drop him back into his own mind, free of any dreams. He didn't need to torment himself with thoughts that she was dead and it was his fault. Cullen was stubborn, and pushing him too far could result in something far worse than him simply grieving.

She carefully extricated herself from the Fade and went back to the Crossroads to quietly cry herself to sleep.

Philippa urged the others forward with new determination. The faster she got back to Skyhold, the faster she could either see Cullen face to face, or send him a letter in her hand to prove she was alive. She feared with each day that passed, that he might succumb to temptation and relapse into his lyrium addiction, simply to forget. She monitored his dreams, pushing the worst ones away without waking him. Each night, she saw herself in various states of death. Some were bloody, and others peaceful, but in every scenario, there was one common factor. It was always Cullen's fault.

When they finally came to Morrigan's eluvian, she urged the others through and then jumped through herself, immediately feeling the weight of the thin Veil pressing on her mind again. Ignoring the building pain, she darted from the storage room and through the gardens, chancing a glance at the chess board to be certain he wasn't in the gazebo. After she found it empty, she ran for Josie's office. Her ambassador jumped in fright when she burst through the door, panting. "Oh, my... Inquisitor? You're alive..."

"I'll explain everything later, Josie," she gasped. "Right now, I just need to know if Cullen made it back yet."

Josephine nodded solemnly, collecting herself and straightening in her seat. "Leliana, the Commander, and I rode back ahead of the army. He was... in no shape to be leading the return march "

"Do you know where he is?" Philippa asked, still hovering in the doorway and looking for direction.

"He has not left the training ring since we returned," Josephine directed her.

With barely a thank you, Philippa spun and rushed through the main hall to gasps of surprise. As quickly as she could, she descended the stairs and ran for the ring. She was greeted by near silence, broken only by the pained and frustrated grunts of her templar as he destroyed one of the straw filled dummies around the edge of the ring. "Cullen!" she called as she approached, dipping briefly to slip through the slats of the fence.

She braced herself for anything as he spun around, a mixture of emotions fighting for dominance over his face. Finally, shock won out and his sword lowered slightly. "Impossible," he whispered.

She approached him cautiously, noting the sword still clutched in his hand, and his stiff posture. "Do you think, perhaps you might put your sword away before someone gets hurt?" she asked with a nervous chuckle. "You know I hate being hit by a smite."

He scowled slightly and angrily threw his sword to the ground. "First my dreams, and now you haunt my waking hours as well? It's funny, I didn't realize one of the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal was hallucinations."

"It isn't," she said softly, approaching him with palms outstretched like she were attempting to calm a frightened animal. "I'm not a hallucination, Cullen. We just got back through the Crossroads. When the eluvian in Mythal's temple shattered..."

"Phil?" Another voice drew her attention from Cullen and she turned to see Finn staring slack jawed where he had stopped in his tracks on his way to the tavern. "Maker, they said you were gone." Finn's eyes were nearly as ringed in red as Cullen's, as if he had been crying, too.

"Wait..." His voice was choked. "You can see her, too?" Cullen asked, his eyes widening as she looked back at him.

"Clear as day... Phil, what happened?" Finn asked, briefly looking at Cullen with a nod before returning his attention to her and staring.

"I would love to explain, Finn, but..." she turned again to Cullen. "We need some time."

"Oh... Of course!" He reached up and bumped himself on the forehead with his palm. "You know where I'll be. I'll spread the word," Finn agreed, hurrying off back toward the main hall.

She stepped toward Cullen again, tears glittering in her eyes. "Will you let me explain? Please..."

He nodded, his eyes still wide in shock, glancing around at the few people that were wandering around the courtyard. "Perhaps somewhere more private..."

They headed for his tower together, neither of them saying a word. She could feel his eyes studying her as if she might float away on the wind at any second, a figment of his imagination. Once they were inside, he pushed the door closed behind them and locked it before leaning his head heavily on the wood. "I can't imagine everything you've been through in the last few weeks," she began apologetically, reaching tentatively to touch his arm around the layers of armor he wore. "I... I tried to... I shouldn't have..." she paused and bit her lip, looking away and dropping her hand. "I'm sorry."

He turned to face her, his expression curious as he pushed away from the door. "What could you possibly have to be sorry for?" he asked, his voice breathy. He finally reached out for her and took her hands in his. She was uncertain if the trembling was coming from her or him, or both. He held her hands tightly.

"When I was stuck in the Crossroads, I did something I promised myself I would _never_ do. I was so desperate to be sure you were all right, I..." She couldn't bear to finish her sentence, looking away from him.

He dropped one of her hands and used his free hand to lift her chin so she was looking at him again. "You entered my dreams?"

She nodded. "I promise, I didn't change anything or try to influence you beyond what I said. I don't even know if I could do that. I've never tried... Even if I knew how, I would never..."

Cullen silenced her rambling by wrapping his arms around her. She breathed a sigh and buried her face between his neck and the fur of his cloak. "You're alive," he stated, his voice strained and still mildly disbelieving. "I don't bloody care what you did inside my dreams. I trust you." Her heart fluttered and she huddled closer to him. His own sigh breezed through her hair. "I can still hardly believe I'm not dreaming."

"I've learned a fool proof way to be certain." She drew back and turned his head so he was looking directly at her. "Keep an eye on your surroundings, and me. Now pinch yourself. If we were in the Fade, the images would waver. Pain is stronger than your dreams."

One of his brows rose, but he mumbled a light chuckle. "You're the expert." He shifted his hands behind her, pulling off his gloves. Then he flinched slightly, but he looked around.

"Am I real?" she asked with a smile.

He nodded and brought her closer to him again. "As far as I can tell. At any rate, I am the one who should be apologizing. I said some terrible things."

"I understand why you were leery. You don't need to apologize. I saw what you were facing," she assured him, pulling back slightly to look up into his eyes. " _Some_ of the things you said were really nice." Did he even recall what he had said to her? Emotions had been high, and she regretted even mentioning it when his brow wrinkled slightly.

He drew away from her, further. "When I thought you were lost, it very nearly broke me. I found myself struggling every day with the option of drowning my memories in lyrium, allowing myself to forget, because the thought of continuing this war without you, it was... I feel silly admitting that. Now that you're back..." he sighed. "I find myself wondering what will happen after. When this is over, I won't want to move on, not from you.” He sighed and his hand found her cheek to caress gently. His confidence flicked to nervousness and he glanced away. “But I don't know what you... That is, if you, ah...” he fumbled sweetly on his words and shuffled his feet, moving away from her to lean on his desk.

Her body pulled her back to his side where she took his arm and maneuvered herself between him and the desk, a relieved smile tugging at her lips. “Does it look like I'm going anywhere anytime soon?”

He stepped closer, effectively blocking any means of escape for her as his features lit up. “I suppose not... I...”

She gasped as she leaned against the desk, her hand bumping a bottle of wine he had near the edge and knocking it to the floor. She saw the pieces shatter and when she glanced back at him, there was a fire in his eyes. He smirked devilishly and his arm swiped out across the carefully sorted desk, knocking all of his papers and everything else he had to the floor. The invitation in his gaze set her heart racing. She was already halfway on the desk and he lifted her up and set her back down, gently urging her onto her back as he leaned over her. She scooted her way further onto the flat surface, her skin on fire, her back arching as he crawled up to lie half on top of her, his elbows taking most of his weight. When his weight hit the edge of the desk, it shifted slightly and he grunted in annoyance. "This bloody desk," he cursed as it rocked again.

As she realized what was happening, she sniggered, burying her face in his neck briefly. Then she placed her hands on this chest, pushing him up. "Hold on..." She gently moved him off her and slipped off the desk, herself. Once it was cleared, she drew on her mana and used a small force spell, to lift the edge from the ground. Holding it aloft with one hand, she used the other to cast another spell to pick up the tiny piece of flint that Sera had slipped under there months ago with her help. She guided the piece to him and dropped it in his hands before letting the desk gently down onto the floor again. "That should be much better."

He looked down at the flint and then up at her, his expression shifting to mildly amused annoyance. "You..."

"And Sera..." she corrected with a grin.

He pressed his lips together, trying to stifle a smirk and shook his head. Then he tossed the bit of flint to the ground and it skidded across the floor. "You are terrible," he growled as he went for her again. She whimpered as he teased her with his lips, barely caressing hers before she slid her hands into his hair and gripped his waves tightly to pull him to her. He smiled around the kiss, his body rubbing against hers, but there was too much in the way. She pawed at his armor, the metal cool against her flesh. She needed soft warmth not cold metal. He snorted in delight as she attempted to fiddle with his buckles.

“It's not that easy,” he teased, his hand sliding down her back. Her body reacted, and she bit her lip, closing her eyes, as he lowered her back onto the desk and joined her. Maker, how had they gone so long before doing this?

Her hands went back to his hair as he kissed her. With his attentions focused on her, he easily made his way out of the furry cloak and hard cuirass. His mouth kept hers occupied long enough to distract her. When her hands found their way out of his hair, she traced down his neck and inside the lacing at the neck of his gambeson. He reached up and dislodged her hands to trace her jawline, his eyes studying her with an deep intensity. When his lips found hers again, his hand moved slowly down over her chest then snaked around her waist to start helping her out of her own armor which she had neglected to change out of in her mad dash to find him. Her current state was suddenly embarrassing, but as he freed her of her belt and opened her vest, his hand slipping under her shirt to grip her lower back, pressing her against him, all of those thoughts flitted away. Her hands gripped his biceps, as her left leg bent at the knee to lift and wrap around him. Even through their clothes, she could feel him, reacting to her closeness. She moaned again, biting her lip as he kissed down her jaw and around to her neck where his wonderful scent enveloped her senses. She took his earlobe between her teeth, gently biting down only hard enough to let him know she was there. His answering groan made her do it again, just a little bit harder. He chuckled, huskily, his breath catching on the moisture of her skin where his lips had just been. “Maker,” she sighed as her stomach clenched in desire.

He pulled away from her neck and nuzzled his way down to where her leggings met her waist. He nosed her shirt higher, exposing her stomach to the cool air that slipped in the arrow-slit windows. She couldn't help the flinch from her stomach muscles as the air caressed over her scars, making her painfully aware that they were now visible. Cullen said nothing, but his fingertips traced lightly over each one, silently letting her know he remembered her anxieties and reassuring her.

The cool air that blew over her skin was soon replaced with his mouth. A light grazing of his teeth dragged a gasp from her throat. He removed her ruined vest completely, allowing it to fall as he dropped it off the edge of the desk. He ever so slowly kissed his way up to where his teeth could gently tease her nipple to attention. She gripped the desk above her head, her breath heavy as he put his multitasking to good use, still driving her wild with the attention on her breasts while his finger slid down and traced the top of her pants, before his palm laid flat against her hip then massaged down her thigh, following it around to where it was still wrapped around him.

She was aching for him to move inwards, but he drew out her need, abandoning her breast to push himself to his knees and pull his top over his head and toss it to the floor. Her hands moved of their own volition, reaching up to touch his bare chest, recognizing his own collection of scars. She bit her lip again, remembering back to the day when she had watched him in the training ring, sweating and glorious, and the night she had inadvertently watched him doing push-ups in his tent back in Haven. “What just crossed your mind?” he asked with a smirk as she traced over his abdomen, her fingers dipping up and down between his well defined muscles.

She pressed her lips together in her own smirk then said. “Your many exertions in the training ring. After this, it is going to be very difficult for us to engage in our own sessions without me having... interesting thoughts.”

He leaned down close, pinning her hands between them. “For Andraste's sake and mine, refrain from biting your lip when you have those thoughts.” He reached down and kissed her again, before gathering her bottom lip between his teeth and biting just this side of too hard.

She moaned and lifted her hips, her leg locking tighter around him again. No one had ever wound her up this tightly. Her one time with Anders had been a whirlwind of darkness and lifted robes so that no templars would find out. Now, here she was, bedding the enemy. Well, desking him, as it were. She chuckled and extricated her hands to caress around his narrow waist and slip down between his belt and his hips. “You are such a tease, Commander.” As her palms forced their way to his ass cheeks, she gently uncoiled a sliver of mana and allowed it to pour lightly from each finger tip, tracing slowly arching shocks of electricity up his back.

He closed his eyes and his hips pressed into her. “Sweet Maker,” he sighed, lowering his head to nuzzle against her neck.

“I know you've probably never been with a mage before,” she whispered in his ear before touching her lips lightly against his neck and kissing slowly toward his clavicle. “That is just a taste.”

"Do I even want to know where you learned that?" he asked, his breath shallow as she teased him again with the lightning. His voice was dark, and his eyes were even darker when he opened them and looked at her, the light amber color verging on a heady brown. He leaned down and kissed her again and she let him taste her magic once more, this time heating her fingers to just shy of igniting into a fireball and massaging the muscles on his back, kneading skillfully in the tenser areas where he kept his stress balled up.

As she worked, she briefly explained. "I may or may not have a twin who talks far too much about his sex life."

Cullen chuckled deeply. "I will never say your brother talks too much again..." His fingers slipped into her hair as he continued to kiss her, his body moving against hers. When he moved away from her mouth, his hand found it's way back down to her waist. The strength in his arms as he dislodged her hands from their ministrations to pull her tunic over her head brought a moan from her throat again and he caught on quickly. He took both her wrists in his one hand and pinned them above her head his smile devious as his other slid down to again trace the top of her pants.

Her upraised leg slipped from his hip as he rolled to take his weight from her, giving all of his strength to holding her arms in place. She arched her back as he teased along her skin with his fingers. Then finally as he drew his hand closer to himself. He slipped down, one knuckle at a time into her smalls. She was practically panting as her arms fought for the freedom to touch him. It was a double edged sword of need and want, driving her mad with both as he effortlessly held her where he wanted her. His hand moved over her pelvis, beneath her clothes, touching nothing more intimate than the sensitive skin there. When he made it around to her side, his hand slipped deeper and he took her clothing with it, moving to lean over her again, lifting her hips with his one arm to free her of the confines of her breeches. He took a moment to study her before reluctantly releasing her hands and standing to remove her boots so her skin would be completely free. When she was utterly naked in front of him, vulnerable, his eyes traced over every inch of her. When he looked up at her face, it was with an appreciative smile. "Whether you wish to believe it or not, scars and all, _you_ are a beautiful sight."

"Commander, you're going to make me blush," she teased in return, as he stepped closer again.

"I'll make you do more than blush," he promised. He kicked off his own boots, before kneeling on the ground and wrapping his arms around her thighs. He tugged her to the edge of the desk, so his head was between her legs. Then he kissed along her inner thigh, pausing before he tipped into her need and starting over on the opposite side. Her hips moved toward him. "No... Stay," he scolded lightly, and he effortlessly moved her back so he could tease her into madness. She writhed under his touch, his strong arms holding her from wriggling out of place. He once again with a raise of his brow kissed down her inner thigh, paused, moved to the other side and paused again. His breath against her had her biting her lip again as she gripped the edges of the desk. Then his tongue was inside her and she yelped in surprise as he expertly licked right over the perfect spot. She felt him grin at her reaction and she pushed her hips into him, her own fingers running through her hair and then down her own skin before coiling in his blonde curls as his tongue stroked her. Refusing to give her more than a tease, as soon as her breathing quickened and she felt her muscles begin to tense, he pulled out from her, drawing a frustrated groan from her throat.

She watched him stand and in response to the look on his face coupled with his mussed hair and the bulge pressing against the laces of his trousers, she sighed and stretched like a cat, showing him what he was missing out on touching as he stood there. He shook his head and reached out, slipping his hands beneath her arched back and lifted her back so she was all of the way on the desk. After he joined her again, she reached down and helped to liberate him from the tightness of the laces and leather. He leaned over her and kissed her, the taste of her still lingering on his tongue. She used her legs to pull him against her, his new freedom painfully obvious as he stroked over her. The teasing nearly became unbearable, her lower lips throbbing in anticipation, and she answered it with teeth to the meat of his shoulder. He chuckled then stroked over her one last time before taking the hint and pushing his way inside.

He was a lot to take, but she was so on fire, that she could probably have taken a Qunari without a problem. She pushed her hips into him, his sturdy desk barely budging as they moved together. The small Phylactery that he kept around his neck on a short cord, hung over top of her, swaying back and forth with their movement. She could feel him coming undone in the increasingly heavy breath on her neck and the way he gripped the desk beside her head, using it as leverage. She slid her hands up his chest then back down and around to his back where her fingers pressed into his flesh to pull him closer, her legs crossed tightly over his rear. “Maker, Phil, I'm close... where should I...?” she silenced him with a kiss, her own orgasm lighting up her vision as she kept him inside with her legs, and her nails raking down his back. Her carefully coiled magic unraveled in her chest, releasing more tantalizing sparks from her fingertips as they trailed his flesh. Their closeness allowed her to enjoy the tingling, making her cry out in ecstasy and doubling the warmth of him as ages of pent up tension eased from his body in his orgasm.

Her muscles twitched and jerked and she felt his doing the same in reaction. He held himself over her, his weight on his forearms as his head sunk to bury his face by her neck. She panted heavily, trying to catch her breath around the joyous smile that she couldn't shake. Her arms dropped to the desk and he gingerly pulled out of her, hissing as her body tried to keep him locked in place. She chuckled and that only made things worse. He groaned, playfully nipping at her neck with is teeth. “Wow,” she sighed. “That was certainly different.”

“It was...” he led, rubbing his palm along her abdomen, tracing over a few of her scars. “You let me... was that responsible?”

She chuckled and ran her hand up his arm to his shoulder. She couldn't get enough of how his skin felt under her touch. “I may be impulsive, but I'm not a dummy. I have herbs that I've been taking to make certain that won't be an issue.”

“Again, I'm not going to ask," he said, relief seeping out of his chest in a sigh. His hand roved up her stomach and over her breasts. She returned the favor, studying a few of the scars he had on his chest before pausing as her fingers brushed the vial of blood. Her phylactery. The only link she had left to the Circle. It was likely, with everything that had happened, that she was never going back, but still he kept it.

She took the small bit of her blood between her fingers and studied it with a frown. She had asked him to keep it safe, but she wondered why after everything that they had shared he still kept it. He insisted that he trusted her, but what other reason would he have to keep the tracker? “Why do you keep this?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “First, it was because you asked me to. Nobody knew what was going to happen with the Circles." He chuckled softly, reaching over to caress her cheek. "Ever since I realized my feelings for you, it has sort of become a security blanket. It lets me know you're safe whenever we're apart.”

She grinned teasingly as she dropped the vial so it fell against his chest again. "It doesn't seem very accurate. You've thought I was dead thrice now." She teasingly tapped his chest with three fingers.

He snorted and lovingly rolled his eyes. "Well, if you would stop getting lost in the Fade and Maker knows where else..."

"Occupational hazard," she retorted with a shove to his shoulder.

With another roll of his eyes, he gathered the vial into his fist and said, “If anyone in Thedas could convince me that mages shouldn't be caged, it's you.” He lifted the cord over his head and tossed the vial across the room. It cracked against the wall, falling to pieces. “I won't be needing that anymore.” She gasped in surprise and he silenced her with his lips. For Cullen to have so thoroughly liberated her, he must truly feel for her as she did for him. He wasn't afraid anymore.

After taking a few moments to breathe, she giggled. “So, do you have a bed, or do you just curl up in your reports like a hamster?”

His laugh echoed through the quiet of the mostly empty Skyhold. “I don't nest in my reports, although I have caught myself dozing amidst the mess from time to time. Believe me, I will not be able to look at this desk the same _ever_ again.”

“It's a good desk,” she patted the wood beneath her and scooted closer to him, the fire under her skin cooling to allow the breeze to slip through the windows and raise goose flesh on her sweat laden body.

"When it isn't being sabotaged," he agreed with a smirk. Then he ran his fingers along her skin again. “Cold?” he asked as she shuddered.

“A little,” she nodded.

“Come. I'll light a fire.” He stood from the desk and her eyes beheld him again in all of his glory. Most templars were in pique physical condition and Cullen was no different. Everywhere she looked, tight muscles sculpted him to perfection. She took note of each scar that marred his light skin, noticing that the marks on his neck from the demon had all but disappeared, but he still bore the line down his forearm that she had not been able to heal. He was not covered, not like she felt she was, but his years of service showed. She wondered how many of them he had gotten at Kinloch during Uldred's coup before Solona had swept in and saved him. She had never thanked Solona for saving him, and it seemed silly to do so now, but she wished she could. “What?” he asked, his hand held out to her as she stared, worrying at her lip again.

She took his hand and rose from the desk, a smile on her face. “Nothing,” she sighed, pressing herself to him so she could rise to her toes and meet his mouth with hers. “Just you.”

He turned her so his body was pressed to her back and he leaned in and nipped gently at her earlobe. He moved her towards a ladder by the exit and patted her rear to scoot her up. She began to climb and halfway up, his hand wrapped carefully around her ankle, effectively stopping her in place. "That is quite a view." He climbed up beneath her as she slowly turned her body so she was perched backwards on the ladder. He came up to meet her, kissing upwards as he climbed until his lips met hers. She cautiously found her hands leaving the safety of the ladder to run through his hair, knowing that he would never let go, never let her fall, at least no further than she already had. Butterflies flapped wildly in her stomach as they kissed. No one had ever allowed her to feel so comfortable in her own skin, as if she belonged beside him. He released her lips with a chuckle. “Get up there.”

A steadying hand on her hip guided her back around so she could climb the rest of the way to his quarters. His space was very spartan. She had expected as much after having seen his tent in Haven. A fireplace stood behind her as she paused far enough away from the ladder to allow him to finish coming up, himself. “You know you have a hole in your roof, right?” she teased, taking in the bed that sat carefully made in the middle of the wall to her right. Back in the far corner to her left, the entire ceiling had fallen in. The afternoon sun streamed in, casting a glow on the otherwise dark room. A small dresser was pushed against the wall near the fireplace, but there was naught else that he kept up there. The living quarters of a soldier.

He came up behind her, his hands sliding around her waist. “I'm more comfortable in the open. It was like that when we got here, like most of the castle, and I just left it.” His hands slipped lower, brushing the crease of her leg and playing over intimate places.

She lost all chain of thought as he touched her, his reaction to her skin against his pressing against her backside. She leaned her back into his chest and one of his hands stayed below as the other rose up her body to grope her breast, squeezing lightly. He guided her towards the bed. “How Ferelden of you,” she quipped as he bent her forward over the mattress, his hand tracing down over her back. She climbed up on her knees giving him a better angle to gently squeeze her rear before he slipped fingers into her, a gasp of pleasure escaping her lips.

As he had with his tongue, his fingers brought her to the brink before abandoning her to the moment of frustration as he denied her completion without him. There was little hesitation this time before he took her again. The angle was deeper, forcing her to shy away from fully pushing onto his length. He seemed to take this information and store it away, his body training itself to not push that extra centimeter that would have been too much. As it was, his body slipped sensually over and over exactly where she needed him. She dipped her head low to the bed, her bangs falling over her vision as the rest of her body followed the angle change, her ass lifting slightly to press against his groin. Just that slight movement gave him the perfect angle to gain that extra centimeter. “Maker,” he whispered, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her into him. Her moan of pleasure as he slowly guided her hips around while he continued to push back and forth, drove him to a carnal frenzy. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her upwards so they were pressed together. His teeth found the curve of her neck and she reached up and gripped his hair, tugging him off so she could turn her head and plunge her tongue in his mouth with him still deep inside her. The kiss was sloppy as she felt herself slipping closer and closer to that marvelous ache just before the dam would break.

“Cullen...” her words caught in her throat, cut off by a soft hiccoughing gasp as he gave an extra push that said he knew precisely what she needed. He reached down in front of her, his fingers on one hand playing over her labia while the other offered her a glorious pressure on the front of her pelvis “Oh, sweet Maker, yes,” she sighed.

“Cum, for me, Phil,” he hummed in her ear as his own rhythm increased, and his breathing hitched.

Her orgasm immediately followed his, pitching her body forward as his hands found her hips again to hold her while he pressed deep inside to release. “Yes, ser!” she chuckled, her limbs weak as he slowly allowed her to slide off and flop onto her back.

He dropped down beside her and she stretched contentedly before rolling to drape her arm and leg over him. She showered his neck with light kisses before snuggling up to him and resting her head on his chest. His thumping heartbeat slowly regained it's normal steady rhythm as she regained the ability to feel her limbs. “You are...” he didn't have to finish as he kissed the top of her head, his strong arm around her back, playing in her hair and tracing up and down her shoulder and arm.

She lazily drew swirling patterns on his chest with her fingers, the gentle glow of the anchor casting a light on his skin. Most of the time, she despised the thing for having turned her life into something she hardly recognized, but it was times like this where she thanked the Maker for her luck because it had thrown them together again. He picked up her hand and kissed her palm, as if reading her thoughts. "I can't believe we waited this long to do this," she hummed.

He chuckled. "In my defense, I was giving you the time you needed to come to terms with your self image. If you hadn't shied away, I would have taken you in the woods that day." He leaned in and lifted her chin to kiss her deeply.

She huddled closer to him when the kiss ended and sighed. "You have to understand... You're the first person who has ever truly seen me like this. And even though I know I don't have to explain myself to you, for Andraste's sake, you were the one who pulled me out of most of the situations I found myself in, it still feels odd to..." she wrinkled her nose, searching for the words she was looking for. "Be so free with something I was raised to believe I wasn't allowed to share... Does that make sense, or am I rambling?"

"You saw firsthand the devastation a sexual relationship caused your friends, and you closed yourself off to the idea that you would ever be free to share yourself with another person without it destroying you both?" he summed up.

She looked up at him and grinned. "I suppose that's part of it."

He chuckled. "Once you closed yourself off, you thought that you were going to be the only one who ever needed to come to terms with what you see in the mirror." He gently nudged her away, rolling her to her back so he could slowly trace over every scar across her torso. His fingers lingered the longest on the dark red line down her side where Meredith's blade had entered her. "We've known each other since before either of us carried the scars we do. None of them are a surprise, and I'm clearly not turned off by you in the slightest."

His hungry smirk traced a shudder down her spine. She bit her lip as he flattened his hand over her sternum, caressed over her stomach and around her hip to pull her against him again. She hummed in satisfaction as he kissed her softly. "I'm sorry I made you wait so long," she said apologetically.

"We have plenty of time to make up for it. I, for one, don't plan on going anywhere until tomorrow. I thought I'd lost you forever, and now that I am able to hold you again, I'm going to savor it," he said in response, his fingers tracing lower to cup his palm around her rear.

Their joining was no less spectacular each time they repeated it. They only paused briefly to hurry down to his office and raid his desk for the snacks he kept hidden in one of the drawers sometime near dusk. Philippa could almost forget all of the concerns of the rest of the world while they laid together, laughing, talking, moaning and gasping. The more they explored each other, the more they discovered how each of them was affected by certain acts and positions. Cullen had always been nervous around magic, but he was particularly affected by the crackle of her fingertips whenever she called her magic into play while she touched him. He was always in control of everything around him until they were entwined in each other's arms. He surrendered himself to her, giving her free reign to do as she wished with her hands, magical or otherwise, and never once flinching when the mana swirled around them.

After countless hours, she began to lose herself in his presence and his warmth, her stamina all but spent. He briefly disturbed her. Pulling the, previously, carefully tucked sheets from beneath them to stifle the nighttime chill that blew in the room from the hole. She chuckled when he made to get up and pushed him back down. “I've got it... Just don't smite me...” she mumbled. She spindled her magic and bent her fingers to trace a glyph into his fireplace. She released a bit of mana, igniting the stack of wood. Then she huddled closer to him and closed her eyes to listen to his heart.

When she woke in the morning, he was still beside her, lying on his back. It seemed they had both slept completely through the night. She took a moment to enjoy the sloppy mess he was, his usually carefully kempt hair in disarray and a sheet draped casually over his legs. She wondered what time it was and realized that she probably had a mile of parchments and scrolls on her desk in her quarters that would need her attention. She sat up, seeing that the fire had burned down to embers and the sun was shining softly through the hole in the roof. She dangled her legs off the bed, remembering that her clothes were likely still strewn around his office. She shifted to get up and possibly raid his dresser for a tunic to wear, and he began to stir behind her. She turned to glance at him. His hands were balled into tight fists and a frown creased his brow. He breathed shallowly as if he were being chased. “Leave me,” he mumbled, again and again, lightly thrashing.

She laid a gentle palm on his chest, her body twisting to face him. He inhaled sharply and bolted awake, his eyes darting around the room before they landed on her and he sighed deeply, lying back on the pillow to close his eyes in frustration. “Bad dream?” she asked softly, her palm sliding a bit further up his chest.

“They always are.” He opened his eyes and looked at her again. “Without Lyrium, they're worse.” Her eyes studied his face in concern, wishing he would allow her to do something to help him. He lifted up onto his elbow and said, “I didn't mean to worry you.”

She shifted closer to him and his free hand found her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her own eyes closing as memories from the evening surfaced. She mirrored his hand on her cheek by gently running her fingers through his mussed hair and then down over his face. “You worry about me all of the time. It's my turn. Now that you're awake, how is your morning?”

He chuckled softly, a light smile pulling at his lips. “It's perfect.” She leaned in, allowing him to pull her closer to him. Their foreheads came together and his cheek nuzzled hers. “You are... I have _never_ felt anything like this.”

Her feelings spilled out, as she pulled just far enough away to meet his amber eyes. “I love you, Cullen. I hope that makes the morning better. Either that or I just ruined it... I can never tell with you quiet stoic types...” she teased. She had been sitting on those words since he had inadvertently told her how he felt in the Fade.

His face lit up with joy, as she continued to ramble jokingly and he silenced her with a kiss before pulling back to look her in the eyes, his half smile spreading to crookedly widen. “I love you, too.”

Her heart soared as she pulled his mouth to hers again. So much had been implied and left unsaid, that the butterflies that had been telling her what she felt flapped even more wildly in excitement as the words were laid bare. Dreams rarely lied, but she had been in control of his dream at the time. She could have accidentally influenced his words. Now they were both awake and together, and he had repeated his feelings without flinching. She broke the kiss before she got carried away. The look in his eyes told her that there was never any way that he was leaving her. They had found peace in each other in spite of all of their differences and nothing short of death would rip them apart. She returned the gaze, her hand that was on his chest slowly and regretfully pulling away. His palm on her cheek traced all of the way down her arm as she stood and backed toward the ladder, plucking the sheet from atop him to wrap around herself. Their fingers clasped briefly and she smirked before letting go and turning to saunter away, adding a sway to her hips as a tease for later.

At the bottom of the ladder, she gathered up her clothing and dressed sloppily before glancing around at the mess they had made as she folded the sheet and laid it on the desk. Cullen's papers were still strewn around the room and she bent to begin picking up a few. “You can leave those,” he called from the top of the ladder. He had pulled on some trousers, but nothing else. “I'm going to have a full day of sorting ahead of me.”

“Was it worth it?” she asked, biting her lip and centering the stack she had in her hands before gingerly placing it on the desk.

“Maker, you have no idea,” he said with a grin, moving to climb down the ladder. “Now get out of here before neither of us gets any work done today.”

She giggled and balled her fist to press it over her heart. “Aye, Commander.” Then she scurried out as he shooed his hand with a chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That scene felt like it was forever in coming, but with Cullen's obvious trust issues, and Phil's insecurities, it seems merited that they would wait this long, even with as many 'almosts' that they had along the way.


	44. A Skeletal Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the brief respite she and Cullen had together, Philippa must retake the reigns of the Inquisition and dive back into their plans to defeat Corypheus.

After a long bath and a short debrief with Leliana about what had happened, Philippa was called to the main hall and her judgement throne. Blackwall, Rainier, whoever he was, had been brought back to Skyhold and the main hall had been cleared for the judgement, which was normally a public affair. His guilt and remorse were written all over his face as he stood before her, a broken man. She steepled her fingers, praying for strength as she looked down from her throne. Josephine sighed and stepped up to stand beside her. “For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall. His crimes... well, you are aware of his crimes. The decision of what to do with him is yours.” Josie sighed and cleared the hall completely so that Philippa could be alone with Blackwall. He refused to look at her and she sat forward, her face in her hands. She had thought extensively about this moment as they crossed from the Wilds through the Eluvians while she wasn't dwelling on Cullen. Everything would fall on what he had to say.

“I wasn't expecting this to be a walk in the park,” she confessed sadly, “but. Maker's breath, it's harder than I imagined...”

He sighed dejectedly, shaking his head. "Another thing to regret." Finally he looked up at her. "What did you have to do to release me?"

She shrugged and leaned back in her throne. "Josephine called in a few favors. There are enough people out there who owe the Inquisition."

"And what happens to the reputation the ambassador has so carefully cultivated? The world will learn how you've used your influence. They'll know the Inquisition is corrupt."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. He was not making this any easier, and she knew that was his goal. He was goading her. He wanted her to swing the executioners ax. She would not be so easily manipulated. “You didn't give me much choice. You failed to convince me.”

“You could have left me there!” he shouted, his voice ringing through the empty hall. “I accepted my punishment. I was ready for all this to end. Why would you stop it? What becomes of me now?” he asked, a single brow raised in question.

She sat up straighter and wagged a finger at him as she spoke. “Blackwall had a plan for you. Join the Wardens. I feel like you should probably follow through on that... You've been living as a Warden for years, what's a little formal initiation? You will not be doing so until after your oath to the Inquisition expires, however.”

He took a step back and hung his head. “As you command.”

She stood up and approached him. “Blackwall wanted you to atone. Not via punishment or death, but through honest, redeeming actions. I will honor that wish.”

He glanced up at her, understanding dawning on his face. “I... am grateful for this, Inquisitor, and I will serve for as long as I can.” He bowed low.

She smiled and took his manacles in her hands, slipping the key in the lock and undoing the chains. “Here's hoping you don't choke on the Joining when your time comes... Warden Rainier.”

“Maybe, just Thom... I'm so used to being Blackwall, it sounds strange to use my real name,” he said with a bitter smile.

She nodded and allowed him to go. Once Blackwall had left, the hall began to fill back up and instead of Josephine approaching her with the next judgement, Cullen stepped forward, his armor polished and shining as he stood with his back straight and his hands resting on his sword. "Forgive me, Inquisitor. For personal interest, I have relieved Josephine. As you might expect. Knight-Templar Samson, general to Corypheus, traitor to the Order. The blood on his hands cannot be measured," Cullen said, offering her a small nod when she smiled encouragingly.

As Samson was brought into the hall that was slowly filling back up, he looked in a rough state. He had survived two previous boughts with lyrium withdrawal, but she had no idea how red lyrium withdrawal might affect a person. His complexion was white as a sheet and his already greasy looking black hair was parted in clumps that clung together like he hadn't showered in months. His eyes still held the ring of sickly red around his irises that gave his stare a demonic feel as he set his gaze on her.

"His head is too valuable to take," Cullen continued as the guards leading him shoved Samson forward. "Kirkwall, Orlais... Many would see him suffer. I can't say I'm not one of them."

Philippa balked and frowned. "Taking his head isn't enough? That's an impressive amount of ill will." She couldn't say she wouldn't be satisfied to simply be done with the cockroach of a man.

"The red lyrium will steal your vengeance," Samson growled with a cracked tone. "You know what it does. Corypheus only delayed my corruption."

"Are you still loyal to that _thing_?" Cullen snapped angrily, swiping his hand in irritation. "He poisoned the Order, used them to kill thousands!"

"Templars have always been used," Samson pointed out almost sadly. "How many were left to rot, like I was, after the Chantry burned away their minds? Piss on it! I followed him so templars could at least die at their best. Same lie as the Chantry. The prophet just isn't as pretty."

Philippa sat forward angrily, thinking of Maddox and his sacrifice. "Your bloody people believed so wholeheartedly that your cause was righteous that they were loyal to their ends."

"Not your business, _Inquisitor_ ," Samson growled, looking up at her in anger.

"Your friend Maddox was so loyal, he killed himself. For you," Cullen spat as if reading her thoughts.

Samson shook his head. "They were always going to die. I saw what Corypheus was doing, so yes, I fed them hope instead of despair. I made them believe their pain had purpose. Just like the Chantry does." He snapped his eyes to Cullen. "Right, Commander?" When Cullen sneered, Samson sighed. "It ended as well as anything else I've done. Corypheus would kill me on sight. I'll tell your people what they want. Everything I cared about it destroyed."

"Your defense is to say that you puppeted these people to their deaths, but they were happy so it's okay?" Philippa asked in shock.

"I'm not offering a defense!" Samson sneered. "What I did was a mercy for templars already lost."

Philippa studied Samson and then glanced at Cullen, hoping she was making the right decision. There was never fault in gaining knowledge. "Samson, I'm hoping you might still be useful in some sense beyond whatever intelligence you think you have. I want to know exactly what makes you tick. My arcanist will study your resistance to red lyrium." Dagna was going to have a field day.

"Do as you will, Inquisitor. Your kind always does," Samson agreed without a fuss.

After he was led away, Philippa rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, hoping there were no surprise judgments this time. When the guards cleared off and the crowd began to disperse, she sighed heavily, reaching down to mindlessly press the tingling from her side that being anywhere near red lyrium dredged up. Cullen moved to stand more closely to her throne. "Is everything all right?"

When she glanced over at him, his expression was concerned as his eyes flicked to her wandering hand. She pulled it away from her side and smiled, waving the hand dismissively. "Fine. The scar from Meredith is a bit more than skin deep. I managed to purge all of the red lyrium from my system years ago, but whenever I'm anywhere near the stuff, it reacts. I get anywhere from a tingling to a throbbing, depending on the amount of red lyrium present."

He frowned slightly. "You never said..."

She snorted, getting up from her seat. "With everything else that goes on with my person, that is a mild nuisance. I'd much rather deal with that than the debilitating headaches and the agony of the mark whenever it activates."

His expression shifted to mildly horrified. "I don't think you've ever described how the mark affects you."

She sighed, hugging herself as she stepped from the dais and tipped her head for him to follow. "Most of the time, I don't really even know it's there. It will flare up every now and then, making my fingers twitch... You've seen that. But whenever I close a rift, or when Corypheus messed with it at Haven, it is almost like all of my nerve endings have been set on fire, and it is rarely contained to my hand. Often times, it reaches up my forearm and clear into my jaw," she confessed.

"I'm so sorry, Phil. You don't deserve any of this," he said sadly, boldly reaching out to rest his hand on her back, slowly rubbing it in circles as they exited the hall. "It's a wonder you function nearly as well as you do."

She smiled, shifting her mood to a much less grumpy attitude. "I'm a Hawke. I'm fairly certain that bad luck comes with the surname. We're all highly functioning wrecks."

He snorted as well, removing his hand. "I'm inclined to agree."

She studied his expression as they stepped out into the sun. "So what is your opinion on my judgement of Samson?"

He sighed lightly, cringing as if he didn't wish to scrutinize her decision. "Samson took everything from those templars. He corrupted their _souls_ , twisted them into everything they stood against. Everything they would have hated..."

"You're letting him get to you, again," she pointed out.

He turned a mild scowl on her. "And what if I am? The red lyrium left Samson's mind unaltered. He _knew_ what he was doing. He dares speak as though it were a mercy? The man's a monster. Dagna is far too kind a jailer for the likes of him."

Philippa stood behind her decision that Dagna might be able to make use of Samson for the greater good, but she was more concerned with Cullen's steadfast belief that it was less than he deserved. "Oh, come now. We both saw Samson at his lowest... You personally know the pain of his addiction. You can't muster even a tiny bit of sympathy?"

Cullen scoffed, shaking his head. "I may have once. But after what he's done... My sympathies lie with those he betrayed. They will extend no further." He sighed. "The red templars needed to be torn down. We've broken Corypheus' army." His arm lifted, blocking her view of his face as he rubbed at the back of his neck . "I might have known some of them. If my life had gone differently... I might have _been_ one of them." She reached up and took his arm away from it's fretting and held it with hers as they continued across the battlement to his tower. He glanced over at her, his eyes reaching deeper as he asked, "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had not been at the Conclave? If you'd never become the Inquisitor?"

"You're talking to the woman that _willingly_ stayed in Kirkwall after Meredith tried to kill her to help the city rebuild. I probably would have made my way here eventually. In case you hadn't noticed, sitting around when I can help is not my strong suit," she said with a hummed chuckle.

He smiled at her crookedly. "No, I don't imagine it is. It's likely you would have found your way here just so you could burst into my office unannounced and point at the Breach before shouting, 'Have you seen the bloody hole in the sky, Knight-Commander?'."

"I am not that predictable. You take that back!" She chuckled softly, pulling her arm from his and punching his upper arm teasingly. After they shared a laugh, she patted his cheek. "I have a few people to visit with before our war council meeting. Would you like to get dinner together later?"

"Of course," he said with his own smile.

She had neglected her friends in her rush to Cullen's side. After checking in on her dragon egg, which was still sitting peacefully wrapped in a heavy blanket beside her fire, she made her way down to the infirmary with purpose, knowing she owed Finn an explanation. When she entered, another patient was leaving and she stepped out of the way of the tall woman with dirty blonde hair pulled up off her neck who was followed closely by a man likely a few years her senior with black hair that was streaked with strands of silver. When he apologized for blocking the entrance, his eyes held a deep kindness. The woman was a templar, from the lingering scent of petrichor that wafted from her, and Philippa could sense in the man a familiar magic. There was also something familiar in his brown eyes. He placed a delicate hand on his companion's back as they passed, and Philippa watched them go until the door closed behind them. She refocused her attention on Finn who smiled brightly before crossing the infirmary and hugging her tightly. "Everyone thought you were dead," he said in a mildly choked voice. "What happened in that temple?"

She returned his fierce hug. "There was an eluvian. When Corypheus made his way to us, instead of fighting him, we fled into the mirror and Morrigan closed the door behind us. He shattered it trying to get through, so we were trapped in the Crossroads. We had to travel through the old roads back to Morrigan's eluvian which she has in a storage room off the gardens."

"Why didn't you try to contact me? I would have been able to relay any messages..." he asked.

"I tried to reach Cullen in the Fade, but he's not used to me traipsing around in his dreams. He thought I was a demon trying to torment him. Seeing was believing, and even then, I needed to convince him. You know how templars are..." she chuckled.

"I'm just glad you're all right," he said with a sigh, holding her at arms length. "I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a second when we heard you were presumed dead."

"I didn't mean to worry everyone," she said apologetically.

"Your brother is still marching back with the army, but I believe your spymaster sent a raven with the news that everyone returned alive and well," he explained.

"I owe the others an explanation, too, but I wanted to come to you first. "You are my best friend after all," she smirked, tapping his cheek playfully.

His face twisted in a cheeky grimace. "Have you told the Tevinter that? He seems to think he holds that spot."

She chuckled. "I love Dorian, but you were here first."

He sniggered. "I win! Hooray for me!"

"I'm going to make my rounds through the castle before the war council meeting. We'll talk later?" she suggested.

He smiled. "I wouldn't miss it, Weaver."

Philippa took the day to check in on everyone. She hadn't seen most of them since she left them at the forward camp. Cassandra was already looking to the future, but was uncertain about what that future held. Leliana was not so unconvinced. "I was pondering who might be Divine," the spymaster said to her. "And it suddenly occurred to me. Is it so ridiculous for the Grand Clerics to support me? Why shouldn't they?"

"What's _your_ vision of the future, Lady Nightingale?" Philippa wondered in a teasing tone.

Leliana shrugged with a devious smirk. "I would change things. Change everything. Your support for the mage rebellion was a good start. No more Circles. The mages will be free. The Chantry will accept them as the Maker's children. In fact, it will accept everyone. Elves, dwarves, even Qunari. Why exclude them? The Chantry allows our differences to tear us apart, instead of teaching us how we are the same."

If Philippa had liked what Cassandra had suggested about the Chantry, she _loved_ what Leliana was saying. Leliana's reforms spoke to her reservations about the Chantry. The changes she put forth were all things that Thedas needed. "If you can bear the burden of the silly hat, you would make a good Divine."

Leliana smiled sweetly. "I am glad to hear it. Your support may persuade the Grand Clerics to vote in my favor. The Chantry was a beacon of hope to me once, you know. In my years at Lothering's Chantry, we turned no one away from our doors. It was a refuge, a place of peace. I felt the Maker's presence and His love even when they told me He'd left us. This is the Chantry I know. The Chantry I wish the world to see."

"I certainly liked your vision for the future," Philippa agreed with a smile.

"Yes! The Chantry must be a force for good, instead of what it is. The Chantry dictated where it should have inspired! It spoke of judgement instead of acceptance. It should encourage the good in everyone, rather than rebuke us for our sins. No one should be turned away from our doors. No one is without worth. Whoever you are, whatever your mistakes, you are loved. Unconditionally." Leliana smiled and then quoted the Chant. "In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame."

Below the Rookery, she found Dorian in his usual alcove. She had hardly spoken with him since the temple and she really needed his insight. He was reading in his favorite chair and she smiled as she approached. He glanced up at her approach and a warm grin enveloped his features. “Just the woman I've been meaning to talk to.” He marked his page and set the book aside. She scooted him aside and forced herself into the seat beside him, leaning her head on his chest as he shifted to accommodate her, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. “What happened at the elven temple... It's got me thinking. I should go back, shouldn't I? To Tevinter, once this is done... if we're still alive.” Philippa shifted to look at his face as he spoke. “All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, but what do I do about it? Nothing...”

“What does this have to do with the temple?” she asked, resting her right palm on his chest and fiddling with one of the many buckles on his clothing.

“That elf, Abelas. He said the Imperium wasn't what destroyed the elves... My people would never accept that. It would reduce us to scavengers, destroy our legacy no matter how terrible. But we should accept it.” his thumb rubbed up and down on her shoulder. “take our history down a peg, confront the legacy hanging over us like a shroud. Maybe not all of us want to,” he shrugged beneath her head. “but that could be altered. If you can change minds, so can I.”

Philippa chuckled. “You could take rotten old Tevinter and make it shiny and new.”

He sighed. “I hope you're right. You usually are... It might surprise you to know that you're the one who inspired me.” he lifted her chin so she was looking at him again. “You're shaping the world... For good or ill. How could I aspire to do any less? It if means proving that Tevinter can be better, that there's hope, even for my homeland? I would do anything.”

She smiled. “For what it's worth, I'll miss you.”

“Of course you will.” He reached over and picked up his book again. "Although it's not as if you'll never see me again. I'll find all sorts of excuses to come and see you, and if you wish to see me when I'm not free, I am but a dream away. I should think it would be enlightening to get a visit from a somniari."

She sniggered. "If I'd have known you wanted me inside your head so badly, I would have gone rooting around ages ago."

He released one of his signature one note barks of laughter. "Oh, the things you could learn! It would keep the Commander satisfied for days!"

"If I ever run out of ideas, I know where to look," she said with a chuckle. Then she patted his chest. "I need to speak to a few of the others. I'm sure I'll be back later."

He leveraged her from the chair, and resettled himself into the center before shooing her with a smirk and going back to his book. Down in Solas' painted room, the elf seemed sad. "The Temple of Mythal sounds truly astounding. I would have liked to have seen it." He frowned slightly. "What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?"

Philippa placed her hands on her hips. She had not personally gained that power. Why was he asking her? "I really don't think that's my decision. It's not in my hands. Whatever comes, I trust the right decisions will be made by everyone involved."

Solas seemed unimpressed with her answer. "You think to share your power, to avoid the temptation to misuse it. A noble sentiment... but, ultimately, a mistake."

"Why?" she asked him as one of his usual cocksure smiles flitted across his face as if he knew more than her.

"Because while one selfless woman may walk away from the lure of power's corruption..." he shrugged lithely. "No group has ever done so."

"You never know. I've surprised you already. Perhaps the Inquisition will, too," Philippa pointed out with a brief snarl, allowing his attitude to grate on her nerves. She didn't claim to know everything, but she was most certainly not the child he seemed to believe she was.

"Perhaps... But it will not be this time. I believe even you know that," he countered.

"Why exactly is this an issue for you?" she wondered.

He tipped his head. "You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor. You have... impressed me. You must not let false modesty allow you to pass your power to someone else. There are few regrets sharper than watching fools squander what you sacrificed to achieve." He looked away, his expression saddening. "Forgive my melancholy. Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The orb he carries, and it's stolen power... That, at least, we may still recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive."

"You make it sound like your packing your things and leaving before we even meet Corypheus," she said, suspiciously. She knew that Solas had saved her life more than a few times, and no matter her personal feelings for him, he had provided them a home after Haven was destroyed, but she would be damned if he didn't give her an odd feeling.

"No, but there may not be a later. It seemed wise to say my goodbyes now," he said with a curt smile and another tip of his head before she left him to his painting.

The rest of her people had little to say about the Temple except Sera denying any of it was real, and Varric expressing his distaste for all of the weird things they had done during their escape. When she found Cole, he was sitting on the edge of the battlements over looking the snow covered mountain below. She approached him, glancing out at the clouds overhead. “Corypheus died, and then he didn't... That's why he always felt wrong, like he didn't fit inside himself. He wears another man's life.” Cole frowned, the sun reflecting off the metal top of his hat. “I thought dying was forever.”

Philippa lifted herself up to sit beside him, turning to dangle her legs over the side as well. “Corypheus has no respect for the rules of existence.”

Cole stood and paced along the narrow ledge, making her stomach flip as she watched. “But is it him? Is he real? If a man can be dead and then not... Could I have saved the real Cole?”

“You did everything you could. Sometimes that is more than enough. It wasn't your fault.” Philippa held out her hand and Cole came back to sit beside her again.

He sighed. “His hands were bruised from beating on the wall. It was dark like the cabinet where he hid to escape his father. His belly hurt like knives, throat cracked dry. He was alone.” Philippa took Cole's hand and he gripped hers tightly. “I pushed through and held his hand.” he squeezed hers when he described the act. “It was all I could do... He said, 'thank you'.” Cole fell silent and Philippa allowed him to comfort himself in her hand. “Thank you,” he said to her, then resumed staring out over the snow. "My friends are here," he said out of the blue. "The ones I mentioned. Rhys and Evangeline. I was upset at first that you looked for them when I wanted them to forget, but us finding them saved them. It was good."

She held his hand for a bit longer until he turned a smile on her and allowed her to leave, knowing it was time for her to head to the war room. She was the last to arrive in the war room, and as soon as she stepped through the door, Cullen said, "I'm pleased to report we won the battle, Inquisitor. When you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field. I'm not sure why."

"What he wanted was no longer within the temple," Morrigan explained.

"Perhaps," Cullen shrugged. "He spent so long trying to get into the temple, he probably couldn't have helped his forces by that point."

"Then Corypheus is finished?" Josephine asked tentatively, the rest of the advisors glancing between each other.

"If he is wise," Leliana said. "he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again."

"He will not hide," Morrigan stated.

"That sounded like fact," Philippa pointed out.

"The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me now from across the ages," Morrigan said cryptically. "They hold wisdom, secrets I never dreamed possible. But even _they_ fear what Corypheus has become."

"Should we fear him more than his army?" Philippa wondered, cringing. She had killed the bastard once already. She needed to know that when she did it again, it was the final time.

"Possibly," Morrigan nodded, then she smiled. "Luckily for you, he has a weakness. The dragon he calls is not truly an Archdemon. It is a dragon, in which Corypheus has invested part of his being. He doubtless did so out of pride, to emulate the gods of old. That pride can be exploited. Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted. He can be slain."

Philippa shrugged and said sarcastically. "Easy. Just kill his ridiculously powerful dragon. Let me go get my giant sword..."

"There is a way to defeat the dragon, to match Corypheus in his power. The Well whispers it to me now. Your help will be required, Inquisitor. Speak to me when you are ready, and we shall begin." Morrigan began to saunter from the room and Philippa rolled her eyes behind her back. It was nearing dusk. Nothing was going to get done until the morning.

With a short smirk, Cullen said, "I will see to Skyhold's defenses in the meantime."

“There you are!” Varric's voice came from near the stairwell later in the evening as Philippa was heading toward the Undercroft to check in with Dagna briefly. “I've been looking everywhere for you. We were about to start without you!”

“Without me? For shame! I should always be included in... whatever it is you're planning... What is it exactly?” Philippa asked, turning to smile at the dwarf.

Varric grinned. “Let's go.” He waved his hand for her to follow and set off back toward the main doors. He led her through the night air to the tavern. Inside, the two largest tables had been pushed together in front of the fire and nearly everyone in her inner circle was seated around them, drinks in hand and a deck of cards in Josie's hands. Varric had taught her months ago how to play Wicked Grace, but she had never played with so many variables. “I found her, Ruffles! Deal her in!” Varric moved to one of the empty seats near the fire, next to Cullen. Although disappointed, Philippa still offered Cullen a small smile as she moved to sit between Cassandra and Josie.

“I do hope I recall the rules!” Josie said with an excited giggle. "It's been ages since I've played a game of Wicked Grace."

On Josie's other side sat Cole, looking in wonder at his cards as Josephine artfully shuffled and handed out the cards. Bull took up the entire opposite end of the table and Blackwall sat sheepishly to Cullen's left. Dorian was on Varric's other side, separating him from Cassandra. Light snoring indicated that someone had already had too much fun beneath the table. On further inspection, it was Sera, curled up at Bull's feet like a contented cat. “We playing cards or what?” Bull demanded, chugging from his mug.

“Are three Drakes better than a pair of swords? I can never remember,” Cassandra asked, looking at her cards with a frown.

“Seeker, remember how I said, 'Don't show anyone your hand'? That rule includes announcing it to the table,” Varric chided with a smirk.

“There's a crown on his head, but a sword, too. His head didn't want either,” Cole announced, pointing to the card in his hand.

Varric chuckled. “Don't talk to the face cards, kid.”

“You seem to have enough people,” Cullen said, moving to get up. “I have a thousand things to do.”

Dorian sighed. “Losing money can be both relaxing and habit forming. Give it a try.” His head tipped in Philippa's direction and she flashed Cullen a smile that dropped him back in his seat.

“Curly, if any man in history ever needed a hobby, it's you,” Varric patted his shoulder amiably.

“Dealer starts,” Josie said, picking through a small change purse. “Ooh, I... believe... I'll start at... three coppers! Do you think that's too daring? Maybe I'll make it one... No! Boldness! Three it is!” She dropped her money in the pot.

Bull leaned forward and a rustle of coins sounded near him, several of them hitting the floor. “Seriously? Who starts at three coppers? Silver, or go home.” He dropped a coin in with Josie's bet.

“Sounds good. I'm in,” Blackwall announced, adding his coin.

“Bolder the better, right? I'm in,” Dorian grinned.

“Me, too,” Varric called. “Well, Charmer, are you in?”

Philippa grinned. “I'm in and raising another silver.” She sat forward, folding her hands over her cards still flat on the table.

Cullen gaped. “You haven't even looked at your cards!”

Varric chuckled. “Our illustrious leader is betting we're bluffing.”

“You _are_ bluffing!” Blackwall pointed out with a grin.

The game went on through the night, keeping them all up until well after midnight swapping stories and drinking and laughing. Around the second bell, Josie joyously announced, “And the dealer takes everything. I win again!”

“Deal again,” Cullen challenged, leaning forward. “I've figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador.”

“Commander! Everyone knows a lady has no tells,” Josie teased.

“Then lets see if your good fortune lasts one more hand...”

That is how an hour later, Cullen was sitting across from her, beet red and stark naked. Josie was tittering and Varric snickered. “Don't say a word, dwarf,” Cullen growled in warning.

Varric's chuckle was barely choked down. “I tried to warn you, Curly.”

“Never bet against an Antivan, Commander,” Josie smirked.

Cassandra banged her hands on the table. “I'm leaving. I don't want to witness our Commander's walk of shame back to the Barracks...”

“Well, I do,” Dorian slurred, a grin and a wink finding their way to Philippa who flushed on Cullen's behalf.

“It comes off!” Cole said in awe. “I didn't know it came off...”

The crowd dispersed, all but Bull, and Philippa gave Cullen an apologetic look. He squared his shoulders, accepting his fate and when she stood and turned, she heard his chair scrape against the floor followed by Bull's roar of encouragement as he quickly made for the stairs to head for the battlements and the quickest route back to his tower. Philippa approached Varric to thank him for the evening. It had been nice to have everyone together. Before she could speak, he said, “I'm glad you decided to join us tonight. It's too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor.”

“You're mistaking me for me? How much did you have to drink?” Philippa asked, her own vision swimming a bit.

“It's easy to forget you're not just an icon or symbol. Like those statues of Andraste holding bowls of fire... At least it is for me. You up for another game when this is all over, Charmer?” he explained.

“I wouldn't miss it!” she assured him.

“Good! It'll take me a while to talk Cullen into it. Maybe I'll work the 'revenge' angle.” He patted her shoulder and started for the exit.

Bull nudged at Sera beneath the table with his foot and she grunted. “Wha... whozat? Did I win?”

“No, Stringbean. Come on. Up to bed with you.” He leaned under the table and picked her up to carry her upstairs. “Night, boss,” he grumbled.

Philippa smiled and followed behind them, planning on checking on Cullen. Cole handed her Cullen's clothes as she passed by his attic haunt. “Josephine said Cullen would want these back.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Philippa smiled, taking the clothes and making for the battlements. She left the armor pieces stacked on his desk and headed up his ladder. Cullen was sitting on his bed, leather pants pulled on. “Mind if I join you?” she asked softly.

He glanced at her and then a small smile crept over his lips as he waved her over. She climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sauntered over to join him. “I think I'll stick with chess from now on. At least when I play that, I don't wind up naked.”

She placed her palms on his shoulders and guided him onto his back so she could straddle him with a chuckle. “I don't know. I might need to arrange that for our next match.”

His hands lifted to rest on her hips, his thumbs getting beneath her shirt to caress over her skin. “The most likely scenario to come from that is you will be the one who loses her clothes. You haven't beaten me yet,” he teased.

She grinned “Well, then you win twice.”

He chuckled. “Indeed.”

The next day when Philippa finally got out of bed, Cullen was already awake and down in his office. Sleeping beside him seemed to chase her dreams away and allow her a full night's rest. She pulled on her clothes and climbed quietly down the ladder, making certain they were alone. “I kept the doors locked,” he said with a grin as he noticed her caution.

“I'd be more impressed if you could have stolen some coffee from Josie,” she grinned approaching him to steal a quick good morning kiss.

He snorted. “Are you kidding me? I am going nowhere near that woman for at least a few days. I am never playing cards again. I still can't find my... it doesn't matter. I don't know how Varric talked me into that.”

“That's too bad... I think seeing you lose was the highlight of my evening,” Philippa teased, tapping her fingernails on the metal of his cuirass.

“I do not need help embarrassing myself in front of you,” he said with annoyance.

“You blushed so hard I thought you might burst... Adorable,” she stood on her toes and nipped at his ear.

“Maker's breath,” he sighed. She laughed as he began to blush again. “Sometimes, you are insufferable.”

“I think you've told me that before. Plus, I'm the Inquisitor. I think it's part of the job,” she shrugged. “Now, I should go and speak to Morrigan.”

“Good luck,” he offered, giving her a kiss that told her he was not angry with her teasing.

She left his tower and headed for the gardens where she could usually find Morrigan. Philippa could feel the tug of magic and she followed to source to the eluvian. The mirror stood open and Leliana stood in front of it looking indecisive. “Inquisitor! Thank the Maker you're here! Morrigan chased after her son into the Eluvian. She was terrified.”

"She was _chasing_ Kieran?" Philippa gasped. The boy, as Morrigan had said before, was seldom troublesome. Philippa hardly knew he was there most days. Why would he have run into the eluvian?

Leliana nodded. "She said _he_ activated the mirror somehow, and then she ran into it. I've never seen Morrigan like that. You _must_ go after her!" Philippa nodded as Leliana released her arm. "I will find help, Inquisitor."

Philippa darted through the small storage room and into the eluvian. On the other side, she unexpectedly did not come out in the gentle demon free atmosphere of the Crossroads. "This is the Fade!" she gasped to herself as she recognized the moist, green tinged world, and her usual throbbing headache intensified. This part of the Fade however, did not feel as wrong as the lair of the Nightmare and she took a deep breath to press forward, leery of the spirits that hovered nearby, her magic swirling just below the surface. She found Morrigan not far off, standing in the middle of a clearing and looking from one direction to the next, her eyes wild as she wrung her hands. Philippa ran up to her. "Morrigan!"

"Go back! I must find Kieran before it's too late!" she cried, her voice wavering. When Philippa stopped at her side, she sighed. "Why would Kieran do this? _How_ could he do this? We stand in the Fade. To direct the eluvian here would require immense power. If he is lost to me, now after all I have sacrificed..."

Philippa stepped in front of her to look around, pondering what direction Kieran might have gone. "I'm guessing this isn't exactly what you had in mind when you asked to speak with me yesterday."

Morrigan scoffed and laughed angrily. "Yes, cleverly lure you into the Fade. My masterstroke." She glared.

"Don't the voices have anything to say about what's happening?" Philippa suggested.

"Not a thing since I entered," she brushed past Philippa and continued nervously. "Whatever happens to him now, 'tis my doing. I set him on this path." Her head dropped, her shoulders slumping. "Please help me look, Inquisitor. Just a little longer."

Philippa approached Morrigan and set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Of course."

They set off together, Philippa following Morrigan's unique aura and reaching for one similar that might lead her to Kieran. It was different here in the physical Fade to be poking around someone's aura. It was somehow disjointed. Philippa felt uneasy and disoriented. After no more than ten minutes, they crested a set of wobbly stairs and Philippa spotted movement ahead. Kieran stood before a kneeling figure, casting a spell she didn't recognize. Philippa frowned.

"There he is!" Morrigan cried, taking off.

"Who's with him?" Philippa asked, matching Morrigan's jog as a strange feeling of familiarity washed over her.

"That's..." Morrigan's stride slowed and she gasped. "No. It can't be."

Kieran noticed them and reigned in the spell with a snap of his fingers. "Mother!" he said excitedly.

"Mother..." Morrigan growled.

The woman stood, cocking a shapely hip. "Now, isn't this a surprise?" She gazed at them with the same golden eyes that Morrigan had. Philippa glanced between the two of them, noting that they indeed shared a slight resemblance. The woman Morrigan had called mother wore a burgundy colored set of clothing that clung to a body that was in much better shape than a woman of her supposed age normally could maintain. Skin showed from beneath the feathered pauldrons down to her chest, but every thing else was modestly covered. The tail of her hauberk hung low in the back, touching the ground in spite of the couple of inches to her height added by her tall boots which were covered with spiked metal greaves. Her hands were similarly armored with gauntlets up to her elbows. Her profile made for an impressive sight, her long white hair drawn back on both sides and shaped into horns like a dragon's.

"I can't say I've ever been to a family reunion, but I don't think they're meant to be this awkward," Philippa muttered as she watched the exchange of glares between the two women and felt the touch of a spirit from inside the older woman.

"Mother, daughter, grandson. It rather warms the heart, does it not?" she chuckled and then placed a gentle hand on Kieran's back with a smile.

"Kieran is _not_ your grandson. Let him go!" Morrigan shrieked.

Her mother cackled. "As if I were holding the boy hostage." She looked over at Philippa and spoke as if Morrigan could not hear. "She's always been ungrateful, you see."

"Ungrateful?" Morrigan shouted angrily. Then she pointed an accusatory finger at her mother. "I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will _not_ have me, and you will _not_ have my son!" She lifted her arms, tendrils of magic beginning to swirl around them up to her forearms.

Her mother sighed. "That's quite enough. You'll endanger the boy." Her mother's eyes glowed a light blue, as if balls of lightning were hovering in her sockets, and she lifted her own palm to cast in Morrigan's direction.

Morrigan's spell backfired, making a snap of sound and causing Morrigan to stumble backwards looking at her own hands with confusion that quickly turned to anger. "What have you done to me?"

" _I_ have done nothing. _You_ drank from the Well of your own volition," her mother mocked with a smirk.

"You..." Morrigan gasped and her eyes widened. "are Mythal."

"How is that bloody possible?" Philippa said slowly, her muddled mind catching up with what was happening. The feeling in her core that reached for her magic made her believe Morrigan without a lick of proof in spite of everything they had learned. "Abelas said Mythal was murdered. You can't be her..."

'Mythal' looked at Philippa and tipped her head, laughing. "Explain to me, dear girl, why I cannot be what I am."

"The sentinels at the Well. They said Mythal had been murdered. Whatever she was, she is long dead," Philippa pointed out.

"So she was," the woman agreed calmly. Then she nudged Kieran who smiled and ran to Morrigan, hopping into her arms for a hug.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said. "I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time."

Morrigan shook her head in confusion as Kieran moved back to stand beside 'Mythal' again. "I do not understand."

'Mythal' put her hand on Kieran again and said, "Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her."

Philippa crossed her arms thoughtfully. She understood that this had started out as a possession, evolving into the being that she was today, standing in front of them with so much power. "What's not creepy about you carrying a piece of a goddess around in your pocket?"

She smiled and nodded. "She is a part of me, no more separate than your heart from your chest." Then she looked to Morrigan. "You hear the voices of the Well, girl. What do they say?"

Morrigan closed her eyes as one might when listening to their own thoughts. "They... say you speak the truth."

"But what _was_ Mythal?" her mother prompted. "A legend given name and called a god, or something more? Truth is not the end, but a beginning." Then she looked to Philippa with a coy smile. "A herald, indeed. Shouting to the heavens, harbinger of a new age. You carry a piece of something older, much as the boy does. As for me, I have had many names. But you... may call me Flemeth."

"Flemeth?" Philippa gasped. "I've heard that name before." She dug into her memories and recited. "Legend says, long ago, you stepped out on your weasel of a husband in exchange for someone you truly loved. Your jilted husband then got one over on you, killing your lover, and locking you up. At your lowest, a spirit came to offer you vengeance. You're saying that spirit was Mythal?"

Flemeth gave her a grave look. "One day, someone will summarize the terrible events of your life so quickly. But, yes, I was that woman. That is how my tale began."

"Flemeth appears in other more recent legends, lending a hand to those she needs for her own reasons," Philippa pointed out, remembering the rumors about how Solona had survived Ostagar, and her own twin's tale of her family's escape from Ferelden when the Blight began.

Flemeth shrugged. "I nudge history, when it's required. Other times, a shove is needed." She chuckled in amusement.

"Why exactly haven't you revealed the truth? Why continue to pretend you're just Flemeth?" Philippa wondered.

"And to whom should I reveal myself?" Flemeth asked with a frown.

Philippa snorted and shrugged, her arms still crossed. "I'm fairly certain I know a few Dalish that would be overjoyed to hear you were still kicking. Everyone could benefit from the truth."

Flemeth laughed again, heartily. "I knew the hearts of men even before Mythal came to me. It is _why_ she came to me. They do not _want_ the truth, and I... I am but a shadow lingering in the sun."

"Of all the choices, why you? Why Flemeth?" Philippa asked.

"For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens," Flemeth said, balling one of her fists before her and altering her stance to a threatening one.

"And you follow her whims? Do you even know what she truly is?" Morrigan demanded with what sounded like fear.

"You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end?" Flemeth said, her voice softening with her expression. "It is because I taught you, girl, because things happened that were never meant to happen." The anger returned. "She was betrayed as I was betrayed... as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!" She stopped short and sighed. "Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance."

Philippa pursed her lips, wondering if she was there to help them. "So are you aware of our slight case of ancient evil?"

"Better than you could possibly imagine," she agreed with a grave expression.

"So, are we deserving of a nudge? I'll even take a shove..." she asked.

"Once I have what I came for," Flemeth nodded, glancing at Kieran and smiling.

Morrigan saw her intentions and shook her head wildly. "No. I will not allow it."

Flemeth sighed. "He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this."

"He is not your pawn, Mother. I will not let you use him!" Morrigan growled.

"Have _you_ not used him? Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?" Flemeth countered.

"That was then. Now he..." Morrigan looked at Kieran. "He is my _son_." With her choked tone, Flemeth's determination dwindled and her own expression softened. Morrigan cleared her throat and pointed to Flemeth, glancing at Philippa. "Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor. That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead!"

Philippa shook her head, her mouth agape. This was her chance to find out exactly what Kieran might be. "Kieran... you said he was special..." She knew he always felt odd to her, but he was not evil.

Flemeth scoffed. "I am not the only one carrying the soul of a being long thought lost."

Morrigan sneered. "He is more than that, Mother."

Flemeth shrugged. "As am I, yet do you hear me complain? Our destinies are not so easily avoided, dear girl."

"Mother, I have to," Kieran pleaded.

Morrigan shook her head violently. "You do not belong to her, Kieran. Neither of us do!"

"The boy is nearly ten, why wait until now to try and claim him if you thought he was so valuable?" Philippa asked rationally.

Flemeth tipped her head. "I did not know where he was. Morrigan cleverly hid him from me... until now." She smirked at her daughter in triumph.

Morrigan hung her head. " 'Twas the well..."

Flemeth shook her head, her lips pursed in amusement. "Always grasping beyond your reach, despite all that I taught you."

"So this all comes down to you making off with the body of a child?" Philippa joked nervously. "So the Dalish stealing babies stories are true after all..."

Flemeth tipped her head in the opposite direction and grinned whimsically. "If my daughter believes it, then it must be so."

"Kieran, I..." Morrigan fell to her knees in defeat, wiping the smile from Kieran's face that he had gotten with the praise from Flemeth.

He turned his saddened expression to his grandmother and she smiled sweetly. "As you wish," she said, turning to Morrigan who stood again, ready to listen. "Hear my proposal, dear girl. Let me take the lad, and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or, keep the lad with you... and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due."

"I will take my chances," Morrigan said quickly.

Flemeth's eyes narrowed. "I found you once, girl. What makes you think I will not find you again?"

Morrigan's fists clenched. "Take over my body now, if you must. Just let Kieran go. He will be better off without me, just as I was better off without you."

Flemeth's expression turned sad and regretful. Then she looked at Kieran, turning to face him. She took his hands in hers and he watched her, unafraid. A bright light began to glow around his chest and he glanced at it curiously. It lifted from him and floated in a ball to Flemeth, disappearing into her chest. Then she smiled. Kieran's eyes widened but not in fear. It was with wonder. "No more dreams?" he asked in shock.

"No more dreams," Flemeth confirmed before nudging him back to Morrigan who took him under her arm with a reassuring smile. "A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me. Listen to the voices. They will teach you... as I never did."

When Flemeth turned and started to walk off, Morrigan called after her, but she did not respond, disappearing into the Fade. Morrigan hugged Kieran closer and with a sigh, turned to head back to Skyhold. Philippa followed, still slightly shell shocked. "Are you all right, Kieran? You are not hurt?" she asked after they stepped back into the safety of the storage room.

"I feel lonely," he said, but still he smiled. Morrigan ruffled his hair and sent him off toward the garden.

"She wanted the Old God soul all along," Morrigan mused as she watched him go. She sighed and looked at Philippa. "Is it worth reminding myself that perhaps I do not know everything after all? My mother has the soul of an elven goddess... or whatever 'Mythal' truly was... and her plans are unknown to me."

"She raised you and you honestly didn't know what she was?" Philippa asked in wonder.

"I knew she kept the truth from me. I even suspected she was not truly human... but this? I always thought the so-called 'elven gods' were little more than glorified rulers, but now I have doubt. And doubt is... an uncomfortable thing, Inquisitor. Just be thankful you did not drink from the Well. I am evidently tied to my mother for eternity."

"How exactly did Kieran have the soul of an Old God just living inside him?" Philippa asked in awe.

"It was taken from the Archdemon at the final battle of the Fifth Blight. He has never known anything else. I am uncertain what effect it's removal will have on him," Morrigan explained.

"Obviously it was on purpose. Why?" Philippa asked. Then the reason slammed into her and she gasped. "Is that how Sol survived slaying the Archdemon when no other Grey Warden ever has?"

Morrigan shuffled her feet. "I told you at the temple. The magic of old must be preserved, no matter how feared." She hung her head slightly. "Kieran had a destiny, and now it is in Flemeth's hands. I suppose we shall see what she does with it.

Philippa shook her head in an attempt to dislodge all of the madness she had just encountered. When had this become the norm for her? "Maker's breath, I need a drink."

Morrigan nodded in agreement. "It is as if something from ancient times stretched a skeletal hand into our present. Of course the same could be said of Corypheus." Morrigan turned and closed down the eluvian. "Now we must prepare to face Corypheus himself. It seems Mother was right. The voices of the Well tell me I will be able to match his dragon. All that remains is for you to find him." She smiled grimly and left Philippa to herself.


	45. Facing Down a God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa finds out that Corypheus is just as eager to see this finished as she is.

The rest of Philippa's day was filled with endless paperwork. When it started to get late and Cullen never showed up in her room, she decided to go searching for him, in hopes that he wasn't overworking himself as he had a tendency to do. She checked his tower first, but he was not at his desk or upstairs, so she did a sweep of the tavern and the kitchens before heading to the gardens. As she passed by the small shrine to Andraste where many of the Inquisition came to pray, she happened to hear his humming voice as he recited from the Chant. “Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's light and nothing that he has wrought shall be lost.”

“A prayer for you?” she asked softly, approaching him. He glanced behind him to see her framed in the doorway.

“For those we have lost... and those I am afraid to lose,” he sighed, remaining crouched, his hands still clasped together.

“I don't think I've ever seen you afraid...” she pointed out, slowly approaching closer.

“Of course I am! Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden at Mythal. What more is he capable of? It's only a matter of time before he retaliates.” He stood and turned to face her, the worry he spoke of etched across his face. She recognized the expression. She had seen it before after all. It was in Haven, when she had left the Chantry to face Corypheus. “We must draw strength, wherever we can.” Instead of approaching to take her in his arms, he sighed deeply and walked past her, afraid to show the weakness she could hear in his voice as he whispered. “When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again. Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him...” His head hung, obscuring his face behind the tuft of fur on his pauldrons.

Her stomach railed and her heart clenched. She touched his arms gently and smiled. “No use in worrying when I'm protected by luck. Bestowed personally by you, remember?”

He chuckled softly and pulled her to him. “That's less comforting than I'd hoped.” She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in that fur, her arms wound tightly around his neck. She was as scared as he was. She didn't want to die, but it still could happen. She wanted nothing more than to stay right where they were, hiding in each other's arms. His breath inhaled ragged, and she knew his tears were matching hers. He held her tightly, his arms behind her like a shield from the world. “Whatever happens, you _will_ come back.”

She couldn't help herself. She needed to dig them both from the pit they had just fallen into without warning. Her chuckle was forced through her tears. “Is that an order, Commander?”

His breath was warm against her neck as he sighed, humor in his own tone when he spoke again. “No, but as one of your advisors, I strongly recommend it.”

She laughed softly. “If you say so.”

Still, they refused to let go. Here, in each other's arms, they were safe.

Philippa called her war council together the next morning to get them onto finding Corypheus so she could end him. Leliana looked warily at Morrigan and asked, "Did you... find what you need, Morrigan?"

"I can match the Darkspawn Magister's dragon, yes. As for matching Corypheus..." She glanced at Philippa with a small smile. "That is up to you, Inquisitor."

"I have no delusions that it will be easy, but I am fully aware I need to throw everything I have at the bastard," Philippa said, her stomach knotting. She had fought Corypheus before, but he had changed. He was not waking up from a nine century nap. She didn't know what he might be capable of with red lyrium aiding him.

"Then all that remains is to find Corypheus before he comes to us," Cullen said gruffly.

"We've been looking for his base since all this began, with no success," Leliana reminded them all.

"His dragon must come and go from _somewhere_ ," Cullen pointed out. He was right. A dragon would be hard to miss flying in and out from wherever they were holed up.

Josephine made a suggestion as well. "What about the Deep Roads? We could send word to Orzammar, hire envoys to..."

Philippa's palm lit up with a burst of magic that snapped her arm upwards. Pain lashed at her mind, making it difficult to decide whether her hand or her head hurt worse. Bright green light burst through the open windows as Philippa looked up, holding her wrist in her other hand. The Breach was open again. "It seems Corypheus is not content to wait," Morrigan said, as Philippa balled her fist furiously.

"He's back in the bloody Temple?" she asked Morrigan as the magic pulsed annoyingly, the initial explosion of raw energy settling into a dull roar behind her eyes.

Morrigan nodded. "You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world."

"But that's madness!" Josephine protested. "Wouldn't it kill him as well?"

Everyone in the room looked at each other, at a loss for what to do, then Cullen spoke up. "Inquisitor, we have no forces to send with you... We must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds." His tone was almost frantic as he attempted to remain professional around his fear. She could see the emotions choking him as they flashed across his eyes.

Philippa cringed. "He knows that. He's throwing a tantrum in hopes of drawing me out." She took one more look out at the Breach, swirling menacingly above where Haven used to be. He was practically on their doorstep, calling her out. She needed to go. " It seems like it's worked. Have everyone ready to ride. I need to prepare. Leliana, if you have anyone on reserve, send them ahead."

"I shall go ahead as well and find a suitable place to make ready," Morrigan agreed.

Her companions had already been preparing, having seen the Breach burst open for themselves. Philippa went to the Undercroft and picked up the new gear that had been made for her after her last armor was destroyed in the Wilds. Dagna boasted about all of the new improvements, nervously talking her way through Philippa finding every little slot and crevice that she could shove a potion and loading herself up. Then she strapped her staff onto her back and was ready to go.

At the gates, her friends were awaiting her. She hung back a moment, allowing them to say a few goodbyes to people that had come to see them off. It might be their last chance. She watched Dagna rushing down past her to give a warm hug to Sera who picked her up off the ground and repeatedly kissed her entire face, making the arcanist giggle. Blackwall moved Josephine off to the side and handed her a single flower, said a few words and then sullenly moved toward the gates, making Josie place her fingertips to her mouth and her cheeks flush. Leliana stepped up to quietly tease her friend while simultaneously setting her disapproving glare on Blackwall. Bull and Dorian were standing further toward the stables. Bull had his hands wrapped around Dorian's biceps and he looked to be lecturing him fiercely. Dorian reached up with a sentimental smile and placed his finger on Bull's lips. He said something which made Bull shake his head, dislodging the finger, and then pull the other man against him for a tight hug. After melting into the hug momentarily, Dorian shoved him away with a typical Dorian scowl and the hand came up again to waggle his finger which Bull pushed aside and leaned in to give him a gentle kiss to which Dorian did not object.

When it seemed like everyone had said their goodbyes, Philippa finished coming down the stairs, adjusting her gloves and called out, "All right, everyone. Let's finish this."

She moved to mount her horse, as the others all did as well. She was stopped by a hand grabbing hold of her belt and pulling her back out of the stirrups. "It's just like you to think you can allow the others their goodbyes while you escape without saying yours," Cullen scolded, turning her to face him.

She smirked up at him. "I don't know about you, but I don't plan to die today, Commander."

He harrumphed. "Even so, I want you to know, I meant what I said. I love you, Phil. No matter what."

"That's all I need to keep me alive," she said, moving to her toes to pull him in for a light kiss.

"You just make sure you come back. I don't believe I would survive the thrashing your siblings would give me if I let you ride to your death," he said with a light smile.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Always thinking of yourself... I have to come back. I have a dragon to raise..." Then she brushed his cheek, sobering. "I love you, too. Goodbye, Cullen,” she said, just in case, her forehead resting against his.

He made an audible response deep in his throat as she pulled away with those words. “Don't you dare,” he growled as she mounted her horse.

She offered him a tearful smirk and shrugged before kicking her horse into a gallop.

They rode swiftly through the mountains coming to the ruin of Haven within half a day. They left their horses and trekked to the Temple. Night was falling over the Valley already. Corypheus had begun to set his demons on the scouts and soldiers that Leliana had sent ahead, but they were fighting valiantly. Cassandra charged in, saving one of the men from a terror demon, shoving her sword through it's gaping maw of a mouth. Philippa bypassed the fighting, her staff already in her hands. Her companions and Bull's Chargers, who had come along insisting they didn't want to miss the fight, spread out to deal with the demons. "I've had about all I can stomach of you. It ends here, Corypheus!" she cried, calling him out as he summoned more demons with his orb spewing magic above his head.

"And so it shall," he agreed, crouching to draw more magic forth. The ground beneath her feet began to tremble and suddenly, her stomach sank as they began to rise. He had pulled up the earth itself to separate her from reinforcements. She looked around, panicked, to see who had been close enough to make the cut. Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric, always at her side, were there, along with Vivienne, Solas, Bull, and Cole. Relieved that she would have an abundance of magical assistance, she scowled at Corypheus. "You have been most successful in foiling my plans," he said in his deep and eldritch voice. "But let us not forget what you are. A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat. We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood."

"I don't want to be a god. Too much pressure," Philippa growled curtly. "Do your worst, Corypheus! I've killed you before. I'll do it again!"

He leered at her and from behind him, atop the crumbled remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, his dragon crept into sight. It moved menacingly down from it's perch and then leapt like a cat, diving for Philippa, claws and teeth extended. Her heart stopped for a split second, as she braced for death, but then in mid air, another dragon swooped from out of nowhere to crash into Corypheus' dragon and knock it off course. She stumbled back in surprise, catching a brief glimpse of the dragon. It's scales were purple, and it reminded her, in shape, of the one they had killed in Crestwood. The dragons disappeared over the edge of the floating mountain that they stood on, clawing and biting each other. "You dare!" Corypheus growled. Philippa took the moment to start readying her spells, her heart racing in excitement. Corypheus talked too much. It gave her the advantage of time as he taunted. "A dragon. How clever of you. It will avail you nothing." He began to cast as she moved toward him with determination. "You will fall as a warning to those who oppose my divine will!"

Philippa attempted to block him out, concentrating on the red glow that began to form around him. He unleashed a spray of energy, catching Bull in his shoulder, grazing his skin. Bull cried out in anger and pain as his flesh was seared as if being eaten by acid. He dodged out of the way, his arm dangling at his side. Vivienne rushed in with her spirit blade drawn, holding back the spray of magic with a thick barrier. She gripped Bull's arm, slipped him a healing potion and closed over his wound with her magic.

All of the others sprung into action. Cole darted past Vivienne's barrier and flicked back and forth, drawing Corypheus' magic and opening up his flank for the other mages. With the Breach so nearby, Solas' skills were downright scary. He had taken the new energy of the world and molded it to his will, practically using the earth against Corypheus. He picked up gigantic boulders and hurled them across the field, putting her small stonefist to shame, though she knew that if she tried hard enough, she could match the power. She just didn't need more echoes in her head from the rift energy. Dorian took advantage of a few of the corpses lying about to sick some of his spirit minions on Corypheus, dividing the monster's attention even further. Philippa herself slung all the elements that she could muster, drawing on her deep well of reserves. Bull was back in the fight, but his hammer did not swing quite so hard until he called upon his Reaver skills, turning his injury to his advantage. Vivienne smoothly glided back and forth across the battle field, Fade stepping to leave huge trails of ice in her wake, powering her frost armor. Her body was wreathed in a shell of ice that constantly cracked and reformed as she moved, acting as an extra barrier to keep her safe from Corypheus' attacks. He was making it difficult for anyone to get near him, pulling arcs of jagged red lyrium spikes from the ground around him for protection in between shooting beams of the charring magic from his palms that scarred the ground wherever it struck. Varric tossed elemental grenades at the spikes, shattering them so Bull, Cassandra and Cole could slip in and get some hits in.

Corypheus soon grew bored and flickered out of sight, reappearing above them. They ran as a team up the stairs to regain control of the field. He would not get the advantage of high ground if she could help it. Again, they fell into a pattern, Corypheus taking at least some damage. She could tell because he had stopped talking and taunting her. He was concentrating more on trying to get them off his back than he was actually throwing his own magic at them. Again he flickered away and Philippa followed up a flight of stairs to a different section of the temple. Meanwhile, over head, the dragons continued to fight. Rolling and biting and clawing in mid air. She and her people caught up to Corypheus after about 60 stairs in what looked like it may have been a great hall or a mezzanine. When they ran out onto the field, he spread his arms wide and then clapped his hands in front of him. The walls of acidic energy mimicked his movement, giving them nowhere to hide. Every mage that stood there threw up a barrier, protecting themselves and their companions. Philippa could feel the energy licking at her barrier, trying to break it down. She gritted her teeth and drew her own energy inwards to stuff in her staff in a concentrated ball of spirit energy. She unleashed the spell, hurling the bolt at Corypheus. He staggered back his spell falling down around them as she broke his concentration. As soon as the spell dropped, the others sprung back into action.

Vivienne, again, summoned the massive spirit blade made of pure magical energy and she stepped up to wield it on a few demons that had crashed down in one of the fiery balls that fell from the Breach. Philippa quickly took note that Corypehus was no longer personally summoning the demons that attacked. Could that mean he was weakening? The flurry of hope that idea gave her was quickly quashed as the dragons soared over them, crashing into one of the nearby towers and knocking over the already crumbling stone and mortar and sending them scrambling in several directions. Philippa watched for a moment, losing sight of Corypheus as he retreated again. The purple dragon, which Philippa was assuming Morrigan had gained control of somehow, since she had never specifically said how she meant to match the red lyrium dragon, soared ahead of the other, gaining altitude. It climbed toward the Breach while the tattered wings of Corypheus' dragon kept it from being able to catch her. When it got almost so high that it could have passed through the Breach, it twisted it's body and then shot downwards, folding it's wings against it's sides to gain speed. It rocketed toward the other dragon and then flared it's wings when it crashed into it, grabbing it with its claws and gnashing it's teeth. The dragons fell together, biting and clawing and spinning out of control. At the last second as Philippa realized she needed to get out of the way, the red lyrium dragon flipped the other dragon underneath it and swiped at it's belly with razor claws. The purple dragon's shriek of pain was silenced as they crashed into the ground much too close to Philippa and her people for comfort.

A bright flash of magic burst forth from the purple dragon and Philippa shielded her eyes. When she looked back, Morrigan was lying prone where the dragon had been. Philippa saw her struggling to push herself to her feet, blood pouring from the wound in her gut. Her arms gave out and she fell to the ground again, going still. "Morrigan!" Philippa cried as the red lyrium dragon stood, shaking the dirt and rubble from it's body and then spotted them.

"Dragon lady, she might still be alive. We should help her," Bull shouted from across the field.

Philippa growled as the dragon set it's sights on her and lifted it's head, a rumbling beginning in it's chest that indicated it was going to be breathing lightning at her any second. "There's a dragon trying to kill us!" She flicked her eyes around the field and rolled out of the dragon's breath attack just as it hit the ground beside her. Heat rose around her and the red lightning crackled noisily. "Distract the dragon!"

Philippa barreled across the field, a shield of ice forming around her person before she performed a Fade Step. The spell left a trail of ice on the ground behind her as she moved with impossible speed from one place to another. She landed beside Morrigan's unconscious form as the Dragon shrieked in anger while the others converged on it. She gingerly rolled Morrigan onto her back, inspecting the deep wounds across her stomach. Feeling the drain of the fight on her mana, Philippa swiftly cast a rejuvenation spell before tapping into her spirit healing abilities. She growled in frustration at the Breach, not finding any spirits in the area that might be able to help.

"Sorry, Morrigan. I need to do this the old fashioned way," Philippa grumbled, drawing her mana from her core and casting a healing spell. She started on the inside, making certain she wasn't missing any injuries that couldn't be seen with the naked eye. Then she closed over the bleeding gashes. Once the worst of the damage was repaired, she pulled a healing potion from her belt and propped Morrigan up to pour the red elfroot potion into her mouth. With no other choice, Philippa placed another potion in Morrigan's hand and wrapped her fingers around it before getting up to get back in the fight. As she approached, Philippa could see the cuts and vulnerable spots that Morrigan had left for them as she fought the other dragon. She had done half their job for them.

Bull rushed headlong at it, his hammer raised high above his head. He smacked the dragon right in the nose and it snapped at him in retaliation. Dorian's concern was palpable as he cursed in Tevene and began to aid Bull in beating on the dragon with his magic. It was strange to say that the dragon was the easy part. It had no fancy talents that she could tell, dodging it's red lyrium lightning breath was a trifle compared to Corypheus' concentrated spells. They managed to take out one of it's legs, throwing it off balance and making the front line fighters' jobs that much easier. Vivienne managed to take out it's other leg, dropping it to the ground. Philippa released the blade on her staff and ran up to the exposed neck. She slashed two long deep gashes in it's flesh and then stabbed half her staff through it's neck, piercing all of the way through to the other side. Arterial blood splattered everywhere, spraying them all as the dragon lifted it's head, a roar of defeat echoing out around them, likely reaching the valley below. It's long neck and head dropped with a crash and as Philippa glanced around at her people, she chuckled as she could almost read the thoughts on both Dorian and Vivienne's faces. Both looked down at their clothing in horror and wished they'd had a parasol. She watched the blood pump from the wound and finally the heavy labored breathing ceased. Seconds later, a familiar flash of magic burst from the dragon's corpse forming into a red ball to float away. She watched the magic streak across the sky and head straight back to where it came from. Corypheus stumbled as the magic returned to him. Philippa grinned in triumph as he growled, calling the orb from the sky above him and beginning to cast with it between his hands. “Let it end here!” he raged. “Let the skies boil! Let the world be rent asunder!” Philippa charged ahead, the others hot on her heels. Corypheus needed to die. He was vulnerable. This was their chance. She refused to waste it.

As they reached the apex of the temple where Corypheus awaited them, Philippa seethed as her hand burned and her headache nearly blinded her. “The Breach is getting bigger!”

“So it is,” Vivienne agreed, looking up for a split second. “Kill him before he destroys the Veil.”

“You dare come before me, demon?” Corypheus' attention shot to Cole. “I will bind you, as I have bound so many before!”

Cole growled as a spell fired in his direction. “I am no demon! And you are no god!”

Philippa's heart fluttered in joy as Cole overcame the binding attempt. “Then die with the others!” Corypheus seethed. He abandoned the orb to float in place above him again. With a burst of magic that stumbled them all backwards, he began to call more of the burning red magic to his hands. Philippa kept on him, chasing him down each time he would flicker back and forth across the field to escape the beating they were giving him. Several times, he would hit an invisible barrier that Solas provided, or get pinned down by a flurry of tiny fireballs that Dorian pushed through a glyph he traced in the air before him. Philippa took a few burns from his magic, but she could hardly feel them through her rage. Was this what it felt like for Bull when he called on his reaver skills? No wonder he was able to ignore every injury he took until the battle was over. Her heart raced, her blood pumping loudly in her ears. Varric had run out of projectiles, and Philippa watched as Solas cast a spell that tore the bolts from Corypheus' flesh and returned them to their owner. Varric made a disgusted face, allowing the bolts to hover in the air for a moment before gingerly grabbing a few and loading them swiftly into Bianca to continue firing. Bull charged into Corypheus and bodily knocked him from the air. Philippa took the opportunity to swoop in and slash a few times at Corypheus' middle with an electrically charged staff blade. Corypheus lifted his arms and gathered magic from the orb, his eyes glowing red, then he flung his arms down and a wave of magic knocked her off her feet. She slammed onto her back, temporarily winded. She gasped. Inhaling a lung full of dust she forced herself to her knees as a barrier flew up around her, the familiar tug of Dorian's magic caressing her skin.

"Not like this!" Corypheus cried, reaching up to grab the orb from the sky. "I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages..." Philippa forced one leg under herself, gathering her breath again, the mark calling to the orb in his hands. The orb was struggling with Corypheus, fighting him. Philippa felt the surge of familiar magic pouring from the Anchor. She flexed her hand and the Anchor blazed to life. For once, the power invigorated her, giving her the strength to stand. "Dumat! Ancient ones! I beseech you!" She reached out her hand, drawing on the power of the orb. She had the Anchor. The orb belonged to her. "If you exist... if you ever truly existed... aid me now!"

With one last exertion of her will, the orb snapped from his hands and landed lightly in her palm, his red magic flickering out and the green glow crackling around the edges. Corypheus fell to his knees, his expression one of disbelief. She leveled a victorious smirk on him before thrusting the orb skyward. A beam of magic immediately connected the orb to the Breach and a wave exploded from the middle of the glowing vortex of clouds. The glow dissipated, leaving the vortex that they had looked upon for months after she had closed it the first time. Although, she could feel that the magic was not finished, even as the orb went dormant. She dropped it to the ground and approached the broken, ancient magister as the rocks and debris all began to fall down around them and the temple regained it's gravity, dregs of magic allowing it to fall slower than the rest. As the boulders crashed and shattered around her and her enemy, Philippa reached out and pulled on the Anchor's power. There were still scattered rifts to close, but right now, she needed to open one. "You wanted into the Fade?" she taunted, shoving the mark against his twisted face. The rift opened slowly by her will, pulling Corypheus apart from the inside out. Finally, it burst open and she watched as he disintegrated into millions of tiny pieces of ash before the rift closed up around the lingering remains.

“Let's get out of here!” Dorian shouted, grabbing her arm and dragging her beneath a section of the temple where the falling boulders couldn't smash them. The temple was gaining speed as it fell, leaving her stomach behind. He wrapped his arms around her, his hand on her head. Their combined magic soared up around them and he pulled them into a crouch. In moments, the island slammed back down to earth.

It took some time for the cascade of falling debris to stop pelting the barrier, but when everything went silent, she shifted in his arms, peering out to see if she could spot any of the others. She saw Solas kneeling just a few feet away. Dorian carefully dropped his barrier and she moved to see what was going on. "Solas?"

“The orb,” he whispered sadly.

She looked around him and saw that the orb had cracked in two, rendering the artifact useless. She was tempted to say good riddance after all of the trouble it had caused, but instead, she sighed. "It can't be that bad... we could take it with us... Try and..." She was certain Dagna would be able to figure out how to fix it, if not she could definitely do plenty of experiments to see how it worked and maybe duplicate it.

"That would not recover what has been lost," he said bitterly, interrupting her.

From the set of his shoulders, she could tell there was more to his sadness than the loss of the orb. "What else are you hiding?" she asked bluntly.

His shoulders tightened as he cringed and stood, not turning to face her. "It was not supposed to happen this way. No matter what comes, I want you to know you shall always have my respect..."

Before Philippa could interrogate him any further about what he meant, she was interrupted. "Inquisitor?" That was Cassandra's voice. "Are you alive?"

Philippa took one last look at Solas as he set the piece of the orb down before she followed the calling, picking her way through the rubble. When she finally spotted the group of people below, her racing heart soared. At first glance, everyone was accounted for. "Victorious, I see. What a novel result," Morrigan said from the head of the bunch, favoring her right side, but walking on her own two feet. It was a massive relief.

“And the sky is healed, healthy... whole. There's just that left to remember!” Cole said giddily, looking up at the blue streak across the night sky.

“Looks that way,” Philippa agreed.

“What do we do now?” Cassandra asked.

Philippa glanced behind her, noticing that Solas had disappeared. Her heart clenched, but he had been so upset about the orb, she couldn't blame him for wanting to be alone. She sighed, her smile renewing with vigor. It was over. They had won. “We go back to Skyhold. I could use a drink.” As the others turned to head back down to Haven, she spun and ran back up the stairs, gathering the pieces of the orb and gently settling them in the large pouch at her hip.

They took their time on the way back to Skyhold, sending runners ahead with the news. They paused in the ruins of Haven to tend their wounds, change out of their armor, and take stock of their losses, but it was only briefly. Philippa felt like she could stay awake for a week as she fidgeted in her saddle. It was difficult not to count the miles as they closed in on Skyhold. Cullen was there, waiting for her.

When they passed through the gates, the entire Inquisition had gathered in the lower courtyard. They were cheered through the crowd, everyone accepting accolades and praises. Philippa's sights were set on the small landing where she had accepted her role as Inquisitor so many months ago. There, Leliana, Josephine and Cullen awaited her. As soon as their eyes met, she swore she saw Cullen twitch toward her as if he wanted to leap from the ledge and join her below. She understood his need as her own flared to life. Two days ago, neither one of them thought she would be returning alive. She climbed all of the stairs, trying to maintain her composure, shaking hands and smiling at the masses. When she reached the landing, all three of her advisors bowed formally, welcoming their savior home. Not one to stand on ceremony, she laughed giddily and jumped into Cullen's arms. He accepted her without question, hugging her tightly as she breathed in his wonderful scent. When Leliana cleared her throat, she pulled reluctantly from his grasp and with her hand still clutching his, they all turned to rally the crowd.

After a moment, Leliana leaned close to her and said, “A moment, my lady.” Cullen squeezed her hand, letting go and following Josie and the rest of her inner circle into the main hall. There was already music playing and Philippa could smell food wafting from inside as she and Leliana climbed the stairs. “My agents have found no trace of Solas. He has simply vanished. If he does not wish to be found, there's likely nothing we can do. But I will keep looking.” Leliana smiled beautifully. Her sweetness and charm often caught Philippa off guard, but that evening, it seemed to fit perfectly with the atmosphere.

Philippa waved a dismissive hand. She had expected Solas to cut and run ages ago. He had slowly figured out that she really didn't trust him as she had grown closer with the rest of her companions, yet avoided the rotunda unless she needed to pass through to go to the rookery. "It's not worth worrying about." Philippa had the orb he had been so concerned about. She intended on making use of any free time she had to putting her head together with Dagna and figuring out the magic behind it.

"As you wish, Phil" Leliana said with a short bow. They passed into the entry way and Leliana continued. "Now that Corypheus has been defeated, we have a moment to stop and celebrate." She indicated the main hall that had been decorated and furnished for a party. It smelled of roasted meat, grilled vegetables, and underneath it all, alcohol, which was already flowing freely it seemed. "Afterwards, you will be busy. Every noble in southern Thedas is clamoring to meet you."

Philippa snorted and crossed her arms. “Oh, _now_ they're lining up to meet me.”

Leliana chuckled softly. “Such is the way of things... Previously, you were an upstart... a mage, of all things... leading rebels and heretics. Until Corypheus revealed himself, they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. Once he did, they knew. A magister and a Darkspawn in one creature. The _ultimate_ evil. Now, you are the only power left standing. Enjoy the evening while you can, Inquisitor.”

Leliana left her at the open entry to the great hall. Philippa spotted Cullen hovering just inside the doorway. She approached him and placed a gentle hand on his arm to draw his attention. “Am I imagining it, or do we have a moment to breathe?” he asked her softly, turning to face her and caressing her cheek.

“Have you pinched yourself? Is this all real? It seems real to me...” she said with a teasing smile.

He chuckled, a very happy sound that until then, she realized, had not been completely genuine for some time. “I think you're right. You brought us here. You are proof that the Inquisition made a difference. That we will continue to do so.”

“That's why we're having this fancy party,” she said, gesturing around the hall where a large amount of people had gathered. “Celebrate, _Commander_... You've earned it.”

He shook his head. “I should be thanking you. You gave me a chance to... to prove myself. In your place, I'm not sure I would have done the same.” he sighed and squeezed her hand again, tipping his head toward the crowd. “I should let you... mingle. I'm sure everyone desires your attention, as much as I might want it for myself.”

There were drinks aplenty and so many tiny cakes that Philippa could have stuffed herself on dessert alone. Leliana had warned her away from the dark ones topped with gold dust. Apparently Orlesians called it 'the exquisite misery'. Sera and Bull took a chunk of the evening to reenact the dragon battle, yanking down some of the banners and tapestries around the hall to serve as their wings. As she watched, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard, Dorian plopped his seemingly tipsy butt down beside her on the table and leaned his head on her shoulder. She glanced at him as he smiled contentedly, watching Bull pick up Sera and hold her aloft above his head. She nudged him gently. “So, will you be leaving me all alone with these hooligans so you can return to Tevinter, now?”

He sighed, his breath all puffing out his nose. “No, actually, I was thinking of sticking around... for a while.”

“You will?” she asked, unable to brush away the smile from her lips.

“Tevinter lacks the presence of my best and only friend... It'll keep.” he said, his mustache lifting as he grinned. They watched the show for a bit longer and he spoke again. “I was passing through the hall a few minutes ago, and a serving girl saw me and _squealed_. Actually squealed. Dropped her laundry and everything. Such a mess. She was completely breathless... 'you were at the battle with the Evil One, weren't you'?” his approximation of her voice made Philippa chuckle. “I didn't even get a chance to answer. She hugged me. _Hugged_ me. This is your influence,” he accused, swirling the wine in his glass and then taking a sip.

“Like you don't love every minute of the admiration,” she chuckled, taking the glass from him and sharing his drink. Her own cup sat empty beside her.

He laughed. “I don't trust camaraderie. All these people smiling, buying me drinks... it's unnatural... Mind you, I can't say I hate the notion of being 'the good Tevinter'... 'I suppose you can't all be evil bastards',” Dorian intoned with another approximated voice. “The blacksmith said that, and he _spat_ when we first met. I hope my father hears. He'll shit his small clothes from shock, I swear!”

She giggled, picturing Dorian's father doing just that. “Maker...”

“I know, right,” he said, lifting his head from her shoulder. Bull and Sera took a bow, having finished their reenactment, and Philippa cheered with the rest of the great hall. Dorian patted her leg and got up to drag Bull aside and mumble something to him that made Bull glance around and herd Dorian from the hall with a loud swat to his backside. Dorian rubbed the cheek, tossing a glare over his shoulder, but continued ahead anyhow.

A few moments later, Finn strode up to her and passed her another drink. "I see you've decided to play the wall flower for the last hour. Is everything all right?"

She nodded and smiled. "I'm simply trying to bask in the complete lack of throbbing in my head. But if I keep drinking, I suspect that will not last very long."

He hummed a chuckle. "You're probably right about that."

"Where's Ariane?" she asked, sipping the drink he had brought her.

"We were getting ready to retire. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were all right," he said nudging her.

She nudged him back. "Go be with her. Celebrate. We saved the world."

He shook his head and finished off his own drink. " _You_ saved the world, Weaver. The rest of us stuck at Skyhold, we waited... and worried."

"It's always good to play to your strengths," she teased.

He snorted. "And this is me slipping poison in your birth control."

"Don't let Leliana hear you say that. You might find yourself with a knife to your throat," she said with a chuckle.

"I'm well aware of Sister Stabby and her methods. I much prefer your Ambassador," he joked, setting down his empty mug and bowing his head. "Good night, Phil."

Philippa could tell that the party was winding down. Aside from Dorian and Finn, no one had really spoken to her in hours. The sky was lightening outside and she set the glass she'd gotten from Finn beside the other empty ones. She stood and wobbled toward the door by her throne that led up to her quarters. “You managed to slip away,” Cullen said, drawing her attention back the way she had come. He approached her with a grin. “I thought I might claim more of your attention after all.”

She grinned and backed away deviously, “Is there something on your mind?”

“Everything,” he confirmed, with one of his lopsided grins that turned her insides to jelly. She gripped the handle on the door behind her and turned it to back through the door, her eyes roving up and down his body as he followed after her, closing the door and locking it behind him. They walked hand in hand up the long staircase up to her room. “Battle's over, there will be a new Divine... yet I don't care about anything other than you being alive,” he said drawing her into his arms as they made it to the center of her room.

“Cheesy...” she said with a smirk, gripping his chin between her fingers, then teasingly pushing him away so she could saunter out onto her balcony.

“I don't know what happens after this,” he admitted, following her into the slowly brightening sky outside.

“I am perfectly content to ignore everything for the moment,” she shrugged as he came up behind her, his hands landing on her shoulders and then sliding slowly down her arms and snaking around her waist. His body pressed against her back, he sighed in her ear, the smile evident in the shape of his lips as he kissed her neck then rested his chin on her shoulder. The sun came up over the mountains as they watched, a new day dawning to mark the rest of their lives. She felt safe, secure and loved, like she had never felt before, drawing strength from the man at her back. She turned in his arms, pressing her body against his. “Everything, huh?” she teased.

“Maker, yes,” he said with a chuckle.

She hopped into his arms, wrapping her legs around him. He caught her easily and carried her back inside. The sun was shining in the open doors now and it glinted off his armor as he deposited her on the bed. She crawled backwards as he began the task of removing the difficult pieces of his armor as she watched, her bottom lip in her teeth. He dropped the armor with a clatter and approached the bed. She sat up and pulled him down to join her. He chuckled, twisting so his weight didn't all fall on her, and she took the opportunity to climb on top of him.

She leaned down to kiss him, but he gripped her arms and said, “I don't think so.” He flipped her back onto her back and pinned her down, drawing an excited moan from her as his renegade piece of hair sprung free to fall over his brow. He began to undress her, slowly revealing the healing bruises she'd earned in her battle with Corypheus and his dragon, that she hadn't bothered to heal. It was a waste of mana.

His concern painted itself across his features and his hands that held her loosened their grip. She pulled her left hand free and lifted his chin to meet his amber eyes with her bright blue ones. “Hey, I'm fine. You should see the other guy.”

He smiled, “Bull tells me they are picking up what's left of Corypheus with, and I quote, a dust pan and a pastry scraper.”

She snorted, “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

He reached down and traced over the green bruise on her collar bone, his thumb lightly caressing. “As soon as that Breach disappeared, Josie started planning this damned party. Even before we got your reports. Maker, I'd never been so scared in my life. We had no idea what had happened or if anyone had survived.”

“By some miracle, here we all are,” she said with a grin.

“And here you are,” he agreed, leaning in to kiss her passionately. She could taste his relief, her slightly intoxicated mind giggling as she thought that the Orlesians should make a cake that tasted like it. They already had ham that tasted of despair. She shoved the thoughts from her mind and fell into him. Nothing else mattered besides his touch.

And touch her he did. Everywhere. Ever mindful of her bruises, but no less passionate. She felt her magic flare, arching between them wherever they touched. They moved together until they were spent and still they could not stop touching. She had her leg slung over him, and his arm held her against him, fingers kneading her skin. She playfully sparked tiny arcs of lightning over his chest while his opposite arm caressed up and down her thigh, cupping and squeezing her rear before sliding back down each time. “So what _does_ happen next?” she asked softly, her own voice reverberating inside her head because her ear was resting on his chest.

His deep groan and subsequent chuckle forced her close to him so she could revel in the vibration in his chest. “I don't even want to think about anything outside this room.”

She smiled and planted a small kiss on his side. “Agreed. The Inquisition deserves a day off... And so do you.”

“A whole day?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Mock me again and I'll make it a week,” she threatened. “No work, no reports, no armor...” She walked her fingers up his chest and grinned. “No stress...”

“Maker forbid,” he said jovially. “But a day off does sound... promising.”

“Mmm... good,” she said with a smile, the three days she'd gone without sleep catching up with her finally. She nuzzled her cheek into his chest, wrapping her arm tighter around his waist. His hand that was massaging her arm moved to play in her hair. His fingers on her scalp were soothing and his steady heartbeat lulled her to sleep.


	46. Life after the Death of a God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa finds out what true freedom might be like after Corypheus' demise.

Short of Solas' disappearing act from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Vivienne was the first of her inner circle to leave Skyhold. She was displeased with the fact that Philippa had thrown her lot in with Leliana to become the next Divine. The Enchantress returned to the Imperial Court and began to gather like minded loyalists to her side so they could start their own Circle. Grand Enchanter Fiona followed suit, gathering _her_ followers and rebuilding the College of Magi. In Skyhold, Philippa finally decided what she was going to do with the large, unused tower that loomed over all of Skyhold. With many of the soldiers leaving Skyhold to return home, and a lot of the pilgrims following suit, there was ample room.

Her first step was to go into the tower and begin cleaning it out. It was a hefty job, and she was thankful for her magic when it came to lifting heavy debris out of the way and discarding a lot of the moldy furniture and decorations that still lingered. For some of the more physical needs, she enlisted Bull, who was happy to stick around and help so long as Dorian was in Skyhold. There were still messes in the south that needed cleaning up after the Breach and Corypheus ravaged the lands, and Dorian seemed keen to hang about and help Philippa to right those wrongs. She was called from Skyhold every now and then when someone discovered one of the lingering rifts that still seemed to crop up even though the Breach was gone. She was also called in to deal with some political matters and relief efforts in the surrounding areas.

Whenever she had free time, she worked on the tower, making it ready. It took her months before she was ready to announce her intentions. Without his slew of reports everyday, Cullen had made it a point to become more involved with the training of the new recruits that still cropped up every now and again in spite of them not truly having a cause other than promoting peace in the south. With his new freedom, he had practically moved into her quarters, spending the night there more often than not, since he didn't need to be up with the dawn to work.

He was waiting for her one night, stoking the fire when she climbed the long flights of stairs and collapsed onto her sofa, throwing an arm over her face with a groan. He snickered and stood to lift her head, sit down and lay her head in his lap. "Whatever in the Maker's name you're doing in that tower, I think you're more tired now than when you weren't sleeping."

She snorted. "You may be right." She lifted her arm from her face and reached up to pull his face down for a brief kiss. "I'm nearly finished, though. I need to make sure I do this right. I've sent out a few ravens with requests that I am waiting to hear back from."

"What exactly is 'this', that you're doing?" he asked with a smirk as she sat up and shifted so her feet were on his lap.

He took the hint, unlacing her boots and helping her out of them before massaging her arches. She hummed in satisfaction. "I think I'm ready to share," she said with a devious grin. "Vivienne has her Circle, Fiona has her College... That's all well and good for the mages that still believe there are only two extremes to live by. I think there is a way that we can all meet in the middle. Skyhold is large enough to house any students we might accept, but it will not be mandatory for them to remain here for the duration of their training, or their lives for that matter. Just like the University of Orlais, we could have semesters. For those too young to learn proper control yet, we can provide temporary housing for their families, and allow interactions with the outside world if they wish. In a stress free environment, it's less likely to cause a young mage child to meltdown and accidentally hurt someone. We can create an environment where mages can learn to hone their skills, but their lives won't be defined by the fact that they have magic. If they graduate, they could move on to become proper members of society without being forced to use their magic as their only means of living."

Cullen frowned as he thought, his brow wrinkling slightly. "How would you handle bringing in new children when they are discovered to have magic."

She smirked. "We have templars from all over that we have trained and that we trust to not overreact in trying situations. They interact with mages on a daily basis around Skyhold, and have even made friends... or lovers," she winked playfully, kicking slightly with her foot. "We can assign them around the country to educate people for what to look for before a child's magic even manifests. If a child is found to have magic, they can calmly de-escalate the situation, if it comes to that, while we dispatch a representative to the family to talk about their options." She paused, shifting her gaze to the fire so she could watch the flames flickering. "My father was a Circle mage," she confessed softly. She drew on her mana and a flame to match the fire place danced in her palm. "He escaped to be with my mother when she was pregnant with Garrett and me... Before my magic manifested, there were other signs that he recognized. He knew I was a mage, but in his fear of losing me to the Circle, he tried to deny it and hide it away. If he had had somewhere to take me before I accidentally threw that boy across the Chantry courtyard in Lothering, he wouldn't have needed to fear losing me forever, and I wouldn't have been raised by strangers. No child should go through what I did." She snuffed the flame and glanced at Cullen who was watching her intently.

"You never told me how you came to the Circle..." he led gently.

"My glass dragon," she said, nodding toward the knickknack on her desk. "I bought it at the market in Lothering for one copper because the lady who crafted it was friends with my parents and I was adorable." She chuckled lightly. "When I rushed to show it to Garrett, one of his friends knocked it on the ground and shattered it. They got into a fight over it, and I lashed out, trying to help Garrett. The next thing I knew, I was in chains, silenced, and my family was gone. I spent a week on the road with two strange men with swords, unable to even use my voice to cry. This was Ferelden, mind you, and the weather was terrible. Cold and rainy. I got sick, and by the time we arrived in the Circle and I was thrown in the dungeon, I was beyond terrified. When they gave me my voice back, I refused to talk to anyone, even to tell them that I was ill. I would have died if Wynne hadn't found me and brought me to the infirmary. I was seven."

Cullen's hands stopped rubbing her feet and his right hand slid up her leg to squeeze her thigh comfortingly. "As a templar, you never think about what it must be like for the children that come to the Circle. You're taught from a very young age that mages, no matter their age, are dangerous. If your father had a place like Skyhold to bring you when he first started to see the signs you describe..."

She took his hand in hers and smiled, sliding her feet to the floor and scooting closer to him. "He could have allowed me to choose to come willingly, and have a safe place to learn how to control my magic before Garrett even got into that fight. No one would have gotten hurt. I wouldn't have lost my family. For Maker's sake, I barely even knew my parents. I got a letter from Mother when my father passed, and it didn't even phase me. Mother was a bit more jarring because of _how_ she died, but I didn't grieve. Not like I did when I believed Solona was dead, or after Adamant when Garrett was left in the Fade. Could you imagine if _our_ child in the future was ripped away from us at such an early age that they didn't even mourn our deaths?"

A small smirk lifted his scar and his thumb rubbed over her knuckles. "You want to have children?"

She balked as his question threw her off topic, but then her face flushed and she pulled her hand out of his to playfully shove him. "First of all, I said 'child'... one... and Secondly, shut up. I wasn't asking you to impregnate me today! I said 'future'..."

The redness in her face grew hotter as she sputtered and he continued to smirk at her with amusement. "I'll admit I hadn't give much thought to the future until recently, but I can't say that the thought of children is unpleasant."

She sighed heavily. "You keep saying children... that word is very plural, Cullen." She bit her lip and looked away from him. "I've never even... I don't know... with my injuries... It might be difficult for me to even conceive. I scoffed at Finn's offer to run any tests, because I didn't think the whole mess with Corypheus would be over so soon. That's why I accepted the herbs. Just in case." She shrugged apologetically, unable to meet his gaze.

He forced eye contact on her, lifting and turning her chin so his accepting smile fell on her. "Phil, I am willing to let what happens, happen. If our future holds one child, a slew of children, or none at all, it doesn't matter. So long as we face it together. A year ago, a family and a future was not even a fevered dream. I honestly didn't think to survive any of this, let alone have found someone to share those dreams with."

"And say I am able to conceive, and our child turns out to be a mage?" she asked.

He continued to smile. "Then I know they have a mother who will know how to teach them right from wrong and how to use their power for good."

She sighed, allowing a small chuckle to escape as she said, "I suppose a smite from their father could be an effective disciplinary tool."

He rolled his eyes. "Maker's breath, you're terrible."

"If you're truly interested in knowing, I'm sure Finn wouldn't mind running those tests some time soon," she said as he playfully nudged her head away. "As for tonight..." she shifted, moving onto her knees to straddle his lap. "I wouldn't mind practicing how to make a baby."

He accepted the kiss as she leaned into him, pressing herself against his chest. With a hum of arousal, he said, "You read my mind."

His hands slipped up inside her tunic, rubbing over her skin. She returned the favor, her fingers running through his hair, tipping his head back so she could gain access to his neck. His hands roved all of the way up past her shoulders before he wrapped them around her tightly and stood, picking her up with him. With a chuckle, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed. He dropped her down, falling on top of her, his mouth meeting her stomach and kissing up to her chest before he lifted her tunic over her head. His own followed right after, giving her a glorious view of his sculpted chest before he dove back in to ravage her body with hungry kisses.

After their discussion about children, Philippa had a less than restful night, and right after her mind stopped racing and she was able to fall asleep, she was awoken again by a hollow rattling. She frowned, prying her eyes open. "What in Andraste's name is that sound?"

With her stirring and muttered curse, Cullen stirred as well. "It's not even light out, Phil..."

"Shhh..." she insisted, sitting up and pressing her finger over his mouth. He snorted and kissed her finger before brushing it away. "I'm _trying_ to listen." He sat up as well, and remained silent as the covers ceased to rustle with his movement. "There..." she pointed out as the rattle sounded again.

"Is it coming from the balcony?" he asked with a frown.

She climbed from the bed, slipping out from under the covers to pad across the room in search of the source. "It's too close... and it's echoing."

Cullen sighed, getting up, too. "You'd better hope it's not assassins... you're naked Phil."

She turned to face him as he pulled on his breeches and settled her hands on her hips. "It's the middle of the night and these are my quarters. I'll waltz around naked if I wish. Serves them right if they barge in uninvited..." she turned as the sound happened again, cutting off her snarky diatribe. "Maker's breath!" she gasped, realizing what she was hearing. She hurried to the floor in front of the fireplace and knelt. "Cullen, bring me a shirt. We're about to be parents sooner than we thought."

There was a sharp crack as he moved to her side and dropped one of his tunics on her head before kneeling beside her. "The egg is hatching?"

She pulled the shirt over her head and nodded, nearly getting caught in one of the sleeves in her excitement. When she righted herself, she watched the crack fissure downwards, forking in several places. Biting her lip, she glanced at Cullen who was watching with both fascination and a frown. She laid a barrier down around both of them as the crack deepened. "Dragons are a bit unpredictable when they hatch. Until I know whether it's going to be a drake or dragon, I'd rather we didn't get lightning spat at us," she explained when he turned his inquisitive frown on her as the barrier settled.

They waited only a few moments before a piece of the thick shell slipped out of place and fell to the floor. Philippa reached out and gripped Cullen's forearm in anticipation. More of the cracked pieces began to fall away and soon, she could glimpse the sapphire scales beneath. Her heart was racing as the egg shuddered and then the tiny dragonling burst it's way free of the egg, bits of shell hurtling across the room as it unfolded it's body from the tight confines. "Maker," Cullen flinched.

She released his arm and put herself in the dragonling's view. "Hello," she said sweetly. "Oh, look at you, handsome," she cooed, reaching to pluck a stray few pieces of egg shell that clung to the baby's scales. She allowed her magic to settle in her palm and held it up to the baby's nose. "That's it... get a good whiff." She smiled as the dragonling, without hesitation, lifted one of it's front feet and settled it in her hand after sniffing her magic. Maintaining her sing song tone, she kept her eyes on the dragonling and said, "Cullen, give me your hand."

"What?" he asked abruptly and the dragonling flicked it's eyes toward him.

She sparked her magic to return his attention to her and said in her same tone, "He needs to smell you so he can recognize you. It's called imprinting... Just like a mabari."

Cullen matched her tone, and said, "That's no mabari, Phil."

"He's just a baby. Give me your hand," she sang. "Trust me."

She sighed lightly in relief as Cullen's hand finally entered her field of vision. To his credit, she did not need to guide his hand. He did just as she had, holding it palm up by the dragonling's face. The baby hesitantly reached his nose toward Cullen, but almost instantly his other front foot settled in Cullen's hand. "Maker's breath..." he said as his breath exhaled swiftly from his lungs as if he had been holding it in anticipation of death.

Philippa reached her opposite hand out and patted the baby's head. He leaned into her touch, his tongue falling from his mouth. "You see, Cullen. Just like a puppy."

"Isn't it going to need to eat?" Cullen asked, tentatively reaching out his own hand to pet down the dragonling's back.

" _He_ will..." she agreed, pulling both of her hands away from the baby and patting her thighs. "Who's hungry?" she said encouragingly.

Hearing the excitement in her tone, the dragonling pranced toward her, abandoning Cullen's hand and hopping into her outstretched arms. "He's awfully spry for a hatchling," Cullen pointed out.

"Dragons _are_ magical creatures after all," she reminded him, standing from her knees with the dragonling huddled against her chest, his long neck snaking up around her shoulder. "They grow fairly swiftly." She crossed her room to the small alcove to the right of her bed where she had gotten a specially runed ice chest installed near her wardrobe in preparation for this day. She had used the Inquisition's resources to shamelessly send out well trained Nevarran men that had a certain expertise in the field of dragons. With help from a scholar, Frederic, that was studying dragons in the Western Approach, she had managed to gather a stockpile of dragon milk that she had frozen and stored in the ice chest. She plucked one of the large bottles from the chest. It was a simple farmer's tool, used for a calf or foal should the mother pass away. She closed the chest and set the bottle on the edge of her desk so she could warm it with her magic.

The dragonling's head lifted as he scented the milk on the air once it began to thaw. "Have you thought of a name?" Cullen asked, moving to settle himself beside her when she sat on the couch.

"Hmm," she smirked as the dragonling eagerly took the bottle's nipple in his mouth and began to drink, settling his weight in her lap. She studied him in more detail, noting his base color as a shimmering blue. He had markings circling his body in a light purple like his mother had been. He had yet to show signs of having lightning breath, but she couldn't be certain. Sometimes it took months for a dragon's breath attack to manifest. Bony protrusions jutted from his shoulders, that would someday either form wings and allow him to fly, or continue to grow into protective spines like Thunder had back in Kinloch. He was small for the time being, no larger than a housecat, but his neck was long, unlike his mother. It stood to reason that his father had not been a drake, but an actual dragon. Genetically speaking, he would probably develop a breath attack and wings. "Sparky," she said jokingly.

Cullen leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. "Andraste preserve me..."

"What about Rutherfawke?" she continued to tease.

Cullen made to get up, groaning. "I'm going back to bed. It's too late at night for your nonsense."

She chuckled. "It's like you don't trust me to come up with a good name for our baby dragon."

"After those two, I don't trust you to name anything," he said with a raised brow.

"Buzz..." she said and he shook his head, standing and heading for the bed. "Bolt?" Cullen continued to shake his head as he flopped down on the bed, stretching his arms over his head. "Storm?" Cullen picked up the pillow beside him and dropped it over his face. She chuckled victoriously.

"Are you finished?" he asked, cautiously lifting the pillow to glance down at her.

She smirked. "Zap?"

"If I didn't think 'Zap' might bite your head off, I'd throw this pillow at you," he threatened with a smirk.

She pouted. "What about you? Do you have any ideas?"

He sat up with a victorious smirk. In a slightly louder tone than he had been using so far, he said, "Azure." With that one word, the dragonling lifted his head and glanced around Philippa, tipping himself to the side so he could stare briefly at Cullen before going back to his milk.

Philippa scoffed at Cullen's look of victory. "It's just the way you said it. You drew his attention."

"Fine..." Cullen shrugged and opened his mouth. In a completely normal tone he repeated the name. "Azure."

The dragonling again lifted his head to look around her at Cullen. Philippa repeated the word. "Azure..." He shifted his gaze to her and his tongue fell out of his mouth. "Is that your name?" She reached up and scratched his chin. "Already playing favorites I see." When Azure went back to his milk, nearly having polished off the bottle, she glanced at Cullen. "How in the Maker's name did you come up with that?"

"There is only one word to describe your eyes, Phil, and his scales are nearly the exact same color," he pointed out with a grin, lying back on the bed and tucking the pillow under his head.

"Sweet talker," she teased as Azure dropped the nipple from his mouth and settled his head in her lap, leaving a small amount of milk in the bottom of the bottle. With a light rumbling sound, his eyes drooped and he huffed contentedly through his nostrils.

Philippa set the bottle aside and hefted him into her arms again to head back to the bed. On the side she normally slept in, she had set up a small, heat resistant (thanks to Dagna), place for Azure to sleep. She set him down, and slipped a warming spell into the glyph beneath the padded dragon bed. Then she climbed into bed with Cullen, huddling up beside him and waved her hand to close the balcony doors gently so Azure couldn't get up and wander out while they slept. "Good night, dragon mother,"Cullen mumbled, pulling her closer to him, his eyes already falling closed as Azure's had.

I could get used to being called that," she chuckled softly, huddling against Cullen as Azure snored softly in his bed.

Philippa took herself down to the infirmary the next day after Cullen had headed for the training ring. She had more than just her own ability to conceive on her mind, but when she did bring it up, she was leery on having him present for the news. She wanted it to come from her, good or bad. She found Finn talking with Cole, and the mage and templar she had passed a few months ago when they were leaving the infirmary. "Ah! Phil! I'm glad you're here. I think you should meet Rhys and Evangeline," Finn said as she entered, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Philippa's eyes widened with the realization, and she moved to greet them both. "I'm sorry. The last time we met, I was a bit preoccupied. Thank you for all you did against the red templars."

Rhys reached out his hand and smiled with his kind eyes. "It was the least we could do after your troops rescued us. I understand you took the burden upon yourself when Cole mentioned us in passing."

After she shook his hand, she shrugged and moved to shake Evangeline's. When their hands made contact, all of her focus singled in on the particular oddity about the woman. The woman had once been a templar, she knew that from what Cole had told her, but like Cullen, she no longer took lyrium. Her reasons, however, were very different. Philippa held onto her hand a bit longer than was polite as she stared blankly at the woman. When Cole touched her arm, breaking her from her thoughts, she pulled her hand away and apologized. "I'm sorry... I just... I've met your friend before."

Evangeline balked and she and Rhys exchanged a startled look. "How did you...?"

Finn was frowning. As Philippa thought about the things Cole had told her, she suddenly realized the truth. "Oh, Maker..." she pointed at Rhys. "Rhys, your mother..." She paused and recited Cole's words softly to herself, choking on the last as she looked to Cole for confirmation. "Rhys' mother spoke to spirits, but not to him, and then she died for a templar he loved." She glanced up at Rhys again and her eyes flicked to Evangeline. "Your spirit. Wynne gave you her spirit so you could live."

Evangeline gasped. "How did you even...?" she looked at Rhys again and he took her hand lightly.

Cole stepped between Philippa and the pair as Finn glanced at Philippa with a wash of sadness. "Phil helps. She helped me become more human so I could grow, but she also understands. She wakes in dreams and spirits seek to shape the space around them, but they can't. Not without her. She remembers... like you Rhys, but more."

"I grew up in the Ferelden Circle," Philippa explained. "Wynne was my mentor, and she saved my life on more than one occasion. I was there when she accepted the spirit into her. That's how I recognized it. What Cole was trying to explain was that I am a somniari."

"Fascinating!" Rhys said with a gasp. Then he frowned. "But I thought spirits were harmful to dreamers..."

"Only spirits that have been twisted from their purpose. Demons, if you wish," she explained. "Before the Breach was gone from the sky, the thin Veil was a nagging headache that I couldn't shake."

"If you ever find the time, I would love to pick your brain. I've never met a somniari before," Rhys said excitedly.

"Cole tells me you're a spirit medium?" she asked with her own fascinated smile.

"We're a room full of oddities," he agreed with a chuckle.

"If you'd like, I might have something for you and Evangeline to do that doesn't involve fighting," Philippa offered. "Meet me in the tavern later and we can talk?"

"Of course," Rhys playfully tapped himself on the forehead. "You probably came here with a purpose. Don't let us get in the way."

"I'm glad you and Cole were able to talk," she said, touching Cole's arm and smiling at him. He smiled back and nodded happily.

"I wanted them to forget, but I'm glad they didn't," Cole said.

Evangeline chuckled softly. "Believe me, I forgot, but seeing you again, remembering was easy."

Cole left with the pair and Philippa smiled after them. "They seem nice," she commented.

Finn nodded. "They come back to Skyhold every few months to stock up and Rhys likes getting a second opinion on Evangeline's condition. They don't like to make a fuss about their presence. They were there for the start of the rebellion. I knew Wynne was his mother, he told me as much, but I didn't realize she had passed."

Philippa nodded sadly. "I only realized just now when I shook Evangeline's hand and remembered what Cole said to me."

Finn hummed, but after swallowing, he looked up at her and said, "Rhys is right. You must have come here with a reason."

"What?" she asked in mock insult. "I can't just visit my best friend when I feel like it?"

"Not when you've been focused on whatever secret project you're working on in that tower day and night," he returned with a smirk.

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "All right, fine. My visit is partially about that, and partially a personal matter."

"Is everything all right?" he asked with mild concern, working off her slightly tense demeanor.

"As for the tower, I have been working on cleaning it up and turning it into a learning facility. I've run the idea by Cullen and he thinks it might work. I want to keep a handful of mages on staff who will be paid for their services, to help teach future generations. Unlike the Circle, once an apprentice comes to us, they are free to go whenever they choose, and their families will be given quarters on the grounds as well if they wish to accompany their loved ones for support. I also wish to have pairs, like Rhys and Evangeline, who can be stationed outside of Skyhold to educate villages and cities on the signs of magic before they present, to help alleviate accidents, fear, and violent presentation. They would only step in to diffuse a situation if it gets out of hand. There will be chunks of the year where we rotate students in and out of Skyhold, to give them a break and allow them to visit their families if their families don't wish to accept, or can't accept due to a need for them elsewhere. We will focus on the practical and how to control magic without having our every move lorded over by the Chantry..." She stopped herself, realizing she had been rambling. "What do you think?"

"Honestly?" Finn lifted his eyes in a thoughtful gesture, crossing his arms. "I agree with Cullen. I think it could work. You've proven yourself adept in the eyes of most of Southern Thedas, and with the backing of Divine Victoria, the people would be more likely to heed your words and trust your methods... What did you need me for?" he asked.

She shrugged as if the answer were obvious. "Aside from myself, you are the best spirit healer I know. I was hoping you might agree to take on the position of mentor under the Creation branch. I'm far too busy being pulled away from Skyhold to be a sufficient teacher, and you'll be able to interact with students from all over, with your skills in languages."

"I'd be honored, but this... school... is going to need more than just me to teach apprentices," he said with a frown.

She nodded. "I've sent letters out on recommendations from some of the mages here, and I'm hoping to hear back. There are promising mages under each branch and specialization, with extras to fall back on."

"And if I didn't accept?" he wondered with a frown.

She cringed. "I'm kind of riding on you saying yes. The only other spirit healer I know who might be on our level is three shades of crazy and he blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall."

"I doubt Cullen would be pleased if you brought Anders here," Finn said with a chuckle.

"Which is why I have avoided sending out any letters until I had your answer," Philippa agreed with a chuckle. "I'm fairly certain Cullen would explode."

"Speaking of Cullen, you mentioned the rest of your visit was a personal matter?" Finn led. "I'll assume he's involved."

She bit her lip and shuffled her feet awkwardly. "Now that you mention it..." She sighed. "When you gave me the herbs, if you remember, I expressed concerns about my ability to bear children... I didn't accept your offer to give me an answer, because it was not a priority at the time and I didn't want to think about it. Well, now it's... come up... and I think I'm ready to know the answer."

Finn's brow lifted on his left, and he looked her up and down. "You could have cast this spell on your own, Phil. Why come to me?"

She shook her head. "Of course I know the spell, but I don't want the results skewed by my own hopes. I trust you to do this right, whether I want to hear it or not."

"You give me all of the easy jobs, Weaver," he said with a sigh. Then he held up his hand in invitation for her to sit on one of the nearby beds and moved to lock the infirmary door for privacy. As he approached her, he said. "No matter what, Cullen loves you."

She snorted as he indicated for her to lie back. "Of course he does. I'm a treasure."

Finn's own amused snort joined hers. "That you are... all right, shirt up, please." Philippa pulled her tunic from where she had the front loosely tucked in her belt, exposing her stomach to Finn. His eyes flicked over her scars, but he made no comment before he began to put his magic to work, pressing over the marred flesh and reaching inside to graze his spell over her entire abdomen. His expression told her nothing as he worked, Finn falling into his professional mask as easily as she fell into her sarcastic one. When he finally drew back his mana and removed his hands from her, his expression remained neutral. Philippa sat up, her own face twisting into an inquisitive raised brow. "Well, I have good news and bad news."

Philippa flinched, hugging herself after she tucked her tunic back into place. "I can take it," she said, her voice shaky.

Finn finally sighed, his feelings shining through. "The _good_ news is, when you received the through and through on your left side, it missed your ovary, and both are intact, so you should have no trouble conceiving initially. My real concern is the scarring on your uterus itself. Whatever happened just below your navel where that hairline scar is, the healing missed a good chunk of where the weapon sheared through, forcing it to heal on it's own. My fear is, if you were to get pregnant, carrying to term might be difficult, or the placenta could detach and cause a whole slew of other problems, including miscarriage, blood clots, and premature delivery that could be dangerous for both you and the baby."

Philippa felt her heart stop and she gripped the edge of the bed she sat on, closing her eyes and inhaling to keep from hyperventilating. The wound she had been most worried about, Meredith's blade, had done no permanent damage. It had been the Qunari spear that had scarred her. Anders had been in such a rush to stop her from dying that he had not bothered to repair her womb, and the multiple healing potions afterwards had not been delicate enough to fix the damage properly. "So there is a chance?" she asked, her tone about as hopeless as she felt.

Finn reached out and pried her closest hand from the bed, lacing their fingers. "There is always a chance, Phil. I've seen you pull off some miraculous things in the years I've known you. What you and Cullen need to do is sit down as a couple and decide whether the potential reward is worth the high risk. You also should take into account the two sets of twins in your family and the potential for multiple births, which doubles the chance of detaching with the added weight."

She was silent for a time, allowing his words to seep in. Finally, she glanced up, feeling the shimmer in her eyes as they burned. "Thank you... for being honest."

Finn pulled her in for a hug. "I'm sorry this all happened to you, Phil. Just know that I'm here whenever you need me, for whatever. And I won't let you down. I'd be glad to take that teaching position."

"You're quiet, Phil," Cullen pointed out that evening from across the chess board.

She glanced up, her fingers lingering on the pawn she was fiddling with sacrificing. His amber eyes were studying her with curiosity. "I was just contemplating how to tell you I spoke with Finn today... So, guess who I talked to today?" She picked up the pawn and put it in the path of his knight.

As he shifted to take her piece, his scar lifted slightly as he grinned. "Let me guess. Was it Finn?"

"How did you know? You must be psychic!" she joked. She had had all day to allow the news to sink in, but she felt better knowing in spite of the small hopeless hole in her heart.

"I take it from your falsely aloof attitude that what he told you was less than encouraging," Cullen guessed as she studied the board in lieu of meeting his gaze. She didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"It wasn't _all_ bad," she emphasized, tossing him a free castle for his trouble. He was taking her pieces, left and right, her mind not focused on their game. "If I stopped my herbs today, we could likely easily get pregnant."

"So what is bad about that?" he asked cautiously, pretending he didn't see the sacrificed castle and moving his cleric so he could check her in a few more moves.

The cleric was now in the path of her intended sacrifice, so she took it, not noticing his diagonally placed pawn. "Finn says that when I was run through during the Qunari invasion, the spear cut through my uterus. When I was healed, my life was in so much danger that Anders used whatever mana he had to focus on stopping the bleeding. By the time we got back to the Gallows, my own mana was nearly spent, and I was helping the injured from the siege. I let healing potions finish the job on my own wounds. Healing potions plug a hole, they don't repair it. As a result, there is heavy scarring on my womb which Finn fears could cause complications."

Cullen took the castle and threatened her remaining knight. "What sorts of complications?" he asked.

She moved the knight out of the way and it fell into the three-way trap he had set up for it. While he took the knight, she sighed. "The sort that require us to decide whether to take the chance that our luck will continue to hold out."

"If it could endanger your life, I'm not certain I'm willing to take that risk. I've nearly lost you far too many times..." he began.

"It isn't just your decision, Cullen. _We_ need to decide this. This is _our_ future," she interjected.

"And what sort of future is it for me if you die?" he asked with a growl. Azure, who had been sleeping contentedly at her feet, lifted his head at Cullen's annoyed tone. Philippa reached down and gave him a reassuring pat and he licked her hand before getting up and padding to Cullen to lay his head on his foot.

She narrowed her eyes and finally looked up at him. It wasn't anger she heard in his voice, or disappointment that she saw in his eyes, but fear. She toned back her scowl and reached over the table to take his hand. "I may be a somniari, but I chose to become a healer. You've seen me bring people back from the brink of death, yourself included. My body has been through all manner of torture, injury, and illness, and I've come out only slightly worse for the wear. With proper monitoring, and the right precautions, I believe I can do this. I'm willing to try, at least."

He squeezed her hand and lifted it to gently kiss her knuckles. "You're always willing to try, Phil, usually in direct contradiction to your own well-being. Why should this be any different?"

"Be honest, Cullen. You wouldn't love me if I didn't," she pointed out.

"That is against my better judgement," he chuckled softly. "as is agreeing to all of this, but if you're certain you really wish it, I've already said I'm not opposed to the idea of a family."

She beamed at him. "So we're doing this?"

He smiled in response to her excitement. "I'm going to need much thicker locks on the armory..."

Time passed slowly in Skyhold when there was nothing to do. After managing to recruit enough mages to have a respectable teaching staff in her tower academy, Philippa assigned Rhys and Evangeline as her first mage/templar team in Val Royeaux. They were soon followed by a Ferelden templar named Lysette, her companion a young elven mage that had survived Redcliffe and Haven in spite of her unwillingness to use her magic offensively. Her name was Elowen, and she reminded Philippa a great deal of Brissa. They went to Denerim and the surrounding area. A few more pairs were sent to the Free Marches, Nevarra, and Antiva. As they spread the word, wearing Inquisition colors and with a document signed by Leliana as Divine Victoria, they began to garner interest. Noble families were the first to throw their lot in with the new ideas of the Academy. A few of the families they had allied with during the war with Corypheus gladly sent their children along with nursemaids to provide examples of the legitimacy of Philippa's claims that the academy was no prison and that her methods were effective.

As exciting as the speed at which her academy was taking off was, it was nothing compared to the morning four months after their decision to try and start a family, that Philippa found herself signing paperwork one moment, and the next chucking her guts into her wastebasket. Azure padded over to investigate, her baby dragon not so much a baby anymore. He sniffed at the bin and then nudged her head with his. When the surprise vomiting was finished, she took a moment to breathe and gather herself. Anything could have caused her to lose her breakfast. She shouldn't jump to conclusions. She wiped her mouth with shaking fingers and then sat back in her chair, trying to igore her churning stomach as the taste lingered on her tongue. Placing a palm low over her stomach, she reached for her magic and then reached inwards. Cringing at the damage she found, she moved past it, poking inside and finding exactly what she had been searching for. "Maker's breath," she gasped, releasing the magic and leaving the ridiculously tiny life to it's own business. "Azure! You're getting a sibling," she said softly. The now mabari sized dragon tipped his head at her, his violet eyes blinking. She swore sometimes he could understand what she was saying, but this time was not one of those times. She shoved his head playfully and he huffed at her, sparks jumping from his nose before he nudged her back and sat beside her to rest his chin on her knee.

Grabbing up her quill and a spare bit of parchment, she scribbled a note. _I'm bored. Come upstairs. Alone..._ She went to her balcony that overlooked Skyhold, jostling the dragon's head off her lap, and glanced down at the training ring. Seeing her templar alone, she folded the paper into the shape of a raven and whispered an enchantment. The spell carried the note on the wind, her hands guiding it down to him. It pecked the back of his head before flitting around in front of him and falling at his feet. She saw him rub his head inquisitively before bending to pick up the paper. She could almost hear him cursing as he undid the origami. After his eyes briefly read over her message, he turned and looked up, realizing where the note had come from. She smiled and wiggled her fingers before turning to saunter back through the stained glass doors and into the room. While she waited, she freshened herself up, knowing the taste of vomit in her mouth was far from how she wanted to greet him.

Within five minutes, he was cresting the stairs, and she had laid herself out on the bed in a seductive pose, her tunic sloppily off her shoulder and a teasing grin on her face. "Just the man I was wanting to see," she purred, running her eyes up and down his mildly sweaty physique and biting her lip as he pushed away the enthusiastic dragon with a laugh as he greeted him by bounding up to him and standing on his hind legs to paw at Cullen's chest.

"Azure. Balcony." Azure licked his hand and then followed Cullen's command, snatching up his favorite chew toy along the way. With the dragon out of the way, he approached her, grinning with his own lust. "Not that I'm complaining, but this is new. I don't think you'e ever specifically summoned me for sexual favors before."

She rolled to her back and stretched like a cat. "What can I say? You are much more pleasant to do than paperwork."

With a chuckle, he climbed on top of her and leaned in to kiss her. "Perhaps you'll give me a better workout than a practice dummy."

"I accept your challenge, oh Lion of Ferelden," she teased as he moved to her neck, making her breath come more quickly.

He kissed down her neck and over her exposed shoulder before his hand traced down her arm and slipped inwards to follow the curve of her hips. He pulled his mouth from her skin as he pushed up under her tunic, his palm meeting her bare flesh beneath to caress up over her breasts. She hissed slightly as her nipples hardened at the attention and it was almost painful. He paused at her reaction. His hand pulling slightly away. "Is everything all right, Phil?" he wondered with concern.

She tipped her head. "Of course. Why do you ask?" she smiled, ignoring the new sensitivity of her breasts and pulling his head back down to nibble gently on his earlobe before lifting her arms to run her hands through his hair.

His hand went back to roving, purposefully avoiding her breasts. Instead, he caressed back down over her stomach, reaching the top of her breeches and then pushing his hand lower, between her skin and the fabric of her smalls. When his fingertips barely brushed over her lips, she moaned and felt moisture cascading to her lions. His own answering hum of approval forced her hands lower. She moved from his hair down his back and under his tunic. His skin was warm to the touch after having been working out in the training ring only minutes ago. She trickled sparks of mana from her fingertips along his spine as she drew his shirt upwards and over his head. Once his shirt was gone, he leaned in and his mouth met hers. His lips were salty from the sweat he had worked up in the ring.

While he kissed her, his fingers dipped inside, slowly caressing back and forth over the slickness his mere touch had conjured. The tingling of her building orgasm had her hips moving in rhythm with his hand. She reached down and greedily pushed her own hand into his trousers where he was pressed tightly against the laces. Her other hand loosened the ties and spilled him out into the open, her wandering hand already wrapped tightly around his shaft. As she began to stroke him, his own hand redoubled it's efforts and he added his own moan to the sounds of her heavy breathing. After minutes of them working each other to near completion, he pulled his hand free and began to undo her breeches to pull them off. She took her hand from him and helped by slipping her own top off to expose her chest.

Once they were both naked, he smirked down at her and dove in to take her breast in his mouth, lightly sucking on her nipple. Her answering gasp pushed him to shift closer to her and his more than ready erection slid briefly over her slickness before he easily pushed his way inside, lighting her senses on fire. She nearly came right there until the light throbbing in her breast held it at bay. She took his head between her hands and pulled him upwards to kiss his lips and draw his attention from the ache. He was easily distracted, and he took her wrists in his hands, lifting them up above her head before slipping his palms against hers and lacing their fingers as they moved together. Sounds of pleasure surrounded them as her magic trickled through them both when she called more sparks of lightning. His pace quickened, faltered and then he pushed as deeply as he could, holding himself in place as her own body exploded with ecstasy.

His grip on her hands lightened and he hung his head down to inhale the scent of her hair before he kissed lightly down her neck, along her jaw and then on her lips. Then he pulled slowly free and shifted to lay beside her, his hand moving up from her hip to trace a few of her scars idly before pausing at her neck to pull her in for another kiss. His contented smile made her huddle against him. "So, what prompted this mid morning romp?" he asked, his tone light and happy.

"I wanted to set up good news with a reenactment of it's creation," she hinted slyly. Before smiling and leaning in to whisper in his ear. "I'm pregnant."

He drew back to look her in the eye, his expression a combination of shock, excitement, and mild concern. "When... How..." he stopped himself from asking whatever he was trying to ask and pulled her closer to him before his lips met hers in a deep kiss. "We're going to be parents!" he gasped when he released her. "Maker's breath..."

"Now, it's still early, only a few weeks, but I made certain before I called you up here. We have a long road ahead of us," she reminded him gently, touching his cheek, her fingertips caressing over the light stubble that always remained, no matter how frequently he shaved.

He leaned in to her touch. "I'll do everything I can to make this easier on you," he promised lightly before kissing her again. She could feel the smile in his lips making it difficult to even complete the act properly. Her own smile matched it and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly instead.


	47. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa's happy ending comes to a screeching halt.

They decided to keep the pregnancy a secret for as long as they could, for fear of jinxing anything. Philippa and Cullen both went about their usual routines, as if nothing had changed. Once the Academy had officially opened, she had been taking fewer and fewer trips out of Skyhold as it was, unless there was a rift that needed closing. There hadn't been a rift in nearly six months, so her not leaving the fortress to fight was not so out of character. Instead, she maintained a presence in the slowly growing Academy, sitting in on lessons and checking in with students and staff to be sure everyone was happy and thriving.

Reports of magic related incidents in the Ferelden Bannorn and the cities and villages just outside of Val Royeaux, was showing a marked decrease. Their mage/templar partners were doing exactly what they had been sent out to do. The unrest was slightly more difficult to get under control the farther you got from Skyhold. Carver had gone to Kirkwall with a mage named Corinne who had joined the Inquisition around the same time Cullen had in Kirkwall. She was a Marcher native, from Starkhaven specifically, and her demeanor and accent reminded Philippa of her old friend Kilian. The reports Carver was sending her were slightly disconcerting.

She was standing on her balcony as the sun started to dip down below the mountains, reading Carver's latest letter, the raven perched happily on her shoulder as she fed him a few blueberries from her own snack tray. Azure was perched beside her, eyeing the enchanted bird with narrowed eyes. He had learned early on that Leliana's ravens were not chew toys and should not be messed with when Baron Plucky had pecked him hard enough to draw blood to his nose when he'd attempted to chase him around the courtyard. Cullen's voice broke her concentration and she jumped, disturbing the raven. He cawed noisily and nipped her finger instead of the offered blueberry before flying off in a huff, his feathers ruffled. "You have pensive face. What's that letter?"

She dropped the blueberry and hissed, shaking the blood from the peck off her finger and drew on her mana to heal the wound. "Maker's breath, you nearly gave me a heart attack," she said with a shaky chuckle as her heart raced.

He hummed his own chuckle and stepped up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek before his eyes settled on the letter so he could read it. "News from your brother?"

She leaned into his chest as he rubbed one of his hands under her loose shirt and over the tiny hump of her stomach. It was barely protruding a few inches beyond her normal waist line, but with the rate at which people spread news around Skyhold, she had taken to wearing looser tunics and stopped tucking them in the front of her breeches. Her secret had gotten much easier to keep when Dorian had left for Tevinter a month ago. She had made it a point to send Cole to Charter in Caer Bronach. The elf was keeping him busy away from Skyhold so there were no accidental thoughts that he could pick up on. As Cullen read over her shoulder and her heart slowed, small flutters in her stomach drew her attention inwards. It never ceased to amaze her when the tiny little movements started. It had only been about a week since she had first realized what she was feeling. It was nothing significant enough to share. These first movements were just for her. She cleared her throat, shifting so she could rest her hand over top of his. "Carver and Corinne are having trouble with a lot of the mages in the Kirkwall area."

"Are we really surprised?" Cullen asked softly, his breath on her neck. "You were there towards the end. You know none of them trusted us unconditionally. I wouldn't expect any of them to allow their families to be taken away, no matter _where_ they are taken to. It may take years for the Marches to come to their senses."

"He says that even children from non mage families are being hidden from them." She turned in his arms and lifted hers so she could rest her forearms on his shoulders, pressing herself against him. The fingers of her free hand slipped into his hair and she twirled his curls around her fingers before beginning to massage his scalp. "I wish there was something more we could do."

His lip lifted in his usual lopsided grin and he rested his hands on her hips. "You're doing everything you can, Phil, and so are your people. You can't force change. The Academy is doing well, so far. Once you have a few graduates under your belt, the nay-sayers will realize you weren't lying." She barely heard his words, distracted by his scar as he spoke. When she didn't reply, he snorted softly. "Are you even listening?"

She lifted her gaze to meet his, a sparkle in his eyes. "No." She grinned, nudging him backwards toward the open door.

"You're feeling better, then?" he asked with a lifted brow.

She had not felt nauseous in over two weeks, but for whatever reason, that morning, the scent of baking bread that normally rose from the kitchens in the early morning hours had her heaving over her waste bin. "Much," she agreed with a smile. "And you are so very distracting."

He chuckled as he turned them around, walking her backwards toward the bed as she tossed the letter from Carver onto her desk as they passed. "We were talking about mages and the Academy, then your fingers were in my hair, and _I'm_ the distracting one?"

"I believe your hands were inside my shirt first, Commander," she pointed out as he guided her onto her back.

"That's fair," he agreed, pulling his tunic over his head before taking her ankles in his hands and pulling her toward the edge of the bed. Then he took her leggings down, her own tunic already bunched up near her breasts from him pulling her. After discarding the pants, he snorted and took the tunic as well, exposing her struggling breast-band. As he took a knee beside the bed, his hands trailed over her skin, deftly avoiding her breasts after he freed them from their confines. He knew how sensitive they had become since she had gotten pregnant, and how uncomfortable it was when he squeezed them, so he automatically accepted it as a temporary steer-clear zone. His attentions forced her back into an arch as he rubbed over her thighs and down towards her core. She bit her lip, humming in anticipation. "I must say," he said in a dark voice as he began to trail kisses down her inner thigh from her knee. "These last few days, you have been... insatiable." She shuddered as he punctuated the word with a flick of his finger over her opening. "We've barely started and you're already so wet."

"Don't just talk about it, do something about it," she purred.

He glanced up at her over the swell of her abdomen and smirked. "Is that an order, Inquisitor?"

His thumb slipped over her clitoris as he asked and she groaned. "Andraste, yes," she gasped as he started to rub it in circles. Before she knew it, his other hand joined the first, two of his fingers slipping inside and caressing over the one place guaranteed to make her into putty in his hands. He played over the spot, building her pleasure to the peak. Instead of pulling his fingers free just before she spilled over the edge like he normally did, he quickened his pace, pushing deeper. She gasped, gripping the sheets beside her and balling them in her fists as her orgasm spilled from her in a gush of moisture. "Oh, Maker," she cried as he continued to rub his thumb in circles, prolonging the waves of pleasure. Her legs went weak and he finally pulled away as she twitched and whimpered, the sensation overpowering her senses.

He ran his slick hands over her thighs, massaging the shaking muscles before he shifted her further back onto the bed. He gave her a few moments, lying down beside her and laying kisses up and down her body. When she could feel her limbs again, she drew him over her, hooking her legs around him. He propped himself over her, careful not to lay his weight too low, but his mere presence reignited the fluttering sensation and she smiled, tightening her legs around him. He smirked down at her and with most of his weight on his knees, he leaned over her, bending his arms at the elbows and taking her mouth with his. After teasingly caressing himself over her damp opening, he found his way in with the ease of familiarity. His attentions drew her back into an arch again, and she gripped his arms in her hands, biting back the urge to allow another orgasm to break over her before he caught up. He paused and looked down at her, his head tipped. "Did you just...?"

She bit her lip, shaking her head and her eyes closing as she shifted to urge him back into moving. "Almost..." she gasped. "Keep going."

He chuckled and leaned in, his hips joining hers. "Maker's breath," he teased lightly. "Pregnancy makes you easy."

She laughed briefly, and he faltered as the gesture clenched her diaphragm and her muscles tightened around him. "I have far too much else to worry about. At least something around here is easy."

He resumed their slow rhythm and soon their banter gave way to moans of pleasure and the light creaking of her bed beneath them.

A month later, Bull returned to Skyhold after a long stint of jobs with the Chargers. She got the report of the company arriving a good half an hour before they actually crossed through Skyhold's gates. She made her way from the academy to meet them at the gates, eager to hear if they had any news from the outside world. She hadn't been out of Skyhold for nearly six months and she was going stir crazy. Bull was the first one through the gates just as she was making her way down the last long flight of stairs from the upper courtyard, Azure at her heels as usual. She watched him take in absolutely everything around him, his eye lighting up when it fell on her before he did a sweep of her person. "Hey, Boss!" he said in greeting, his arms thrown out wide as if he were going to go for a hug. He diverted just before gripping her up, his left hand falling to his side and his right dropping to her shoulder. He was grinning widely as the rest of the Chargers filtered in behind him and greeted her with nods and waves and a few shouts before making themselves at home and heading for Herald's Rest.

"How have you been, Bull? What brings you to Skyhold?" she asked with her own smile.

His head tipped and he frowned slightly. "The Vint didn't tell you?" She shook her head slightly and he grumbled. "Ahh... I hope it wasn't supposed to be a surprise... Dorian's had enough of his homeland... for now... and he told me he was coming south to visit for a few months. I figured, since he won't let me visit him in Minrathous..." Bull winked.

She smirked and resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest and ruin the flow of her tunic that was still keeping her secret. "Of course you're welcome to stay. And when Dorian gets here, I'll do my best to act surprised."

He squeezed her shoulder lightly before taking his large hand back. Then he thrust his chin upwards toward the tavern. "Wanna grab a drink and we'll catch up?"

She bit her lip. "Maybe later. I was actually getting ready to fill in for one of our teachers upstairs. She's been a bit under the weather for the last few days."

"Later it is, Boss. It's good to see you," Bull said with another grin before sauntering up the stairs toward the tavern.

Philippa went about her day, filling in for one of her teachers and then heading back down to the gardens to meet up with Cullen for a game of chess before supper. She paused as she stepped out through the door onto the stone path and a sneeze stopped her in her tracks, followed by two more right on top of each other. After recovering from the string of sneezes, she pushed her hair back from her face and continued to the gazebo. "Was that you sneezing?" Cullen asked as she approached, his brow raised.

She nodded as she sat, adjusting her shirt. "Something must have blown up my nose when I came outside," she said with a chuckle.

He hummed. "You'd better hope you're not catching the flu that's going around."

"Maker, don't say that," she chuckled again. "That last thing I need is a clogged nose. I can't hardly breathe as it is."

"Perhaps you should see Finn..."

She held up a hand and cut him off. Lowering her voice, she said, "If I go to Finn, he'll find out about the baby. We've been lucky so far, and I know it sounds silly, but I'd feel better keeping this between us for the time being. If anything does happen, the fewer people I have to disappoint the better." He pressed his lips together, but rolled his eyes and nodded his agreement. "Now, let's get this game finished. I'm starving."

By the time evening rolled around, Philippa could feel the itch of a sore throat setting up in the back of her mouth and the sneezes continued. The next day, she stayed in bed with a mild fever and a cough to go with the sneezes. Cullen grudgingly went about his day, leaving Azure curled up beside her on the bed, his head resting protectively over her belly. He checked in on her periodically bringing her food. All she wanted to do was sleep, and by mid afternoon, his visits were starting to grate on her nerves.

She heard the door open and close and boots slowly climbing the stairs. She groaned and huddled around herself. "No Cullen, I don't need a snack, I don't feel better, and No, I don't need company. Can't I just sleep?"

The footsteps crested the stairs and a familiar huff sounded. "I traveled all this way to see my best friend, and I get greeted with sass. Typical."

Her eyes flew open and she sat up, careful to remain tucked beneath her sheets. Azure huffed as she jostled his head. "Dorian! I'm sorry. Come in! I would hug you, but... germs." She shrugged apologetically, hugging the blankets around her chin and shuddering as she crossed her legs beneath her. "Pull a chair up as close as you dare..."

He smiled brightly and made his way gracefully across her room to pick up one of the chairs near the balcony door and plunk it down beside her bed. He scratched Azure's head. "Good day, Azure." The dragon let out a light rumbling that always reminded her of the sound a lion might make if it purred like a housecat. Then Dorian leaned over and kissed her forehead, the back of his hand following his lips. "And you haven't gone to Finn because...?" he asked as he flowed into the chair and sat back, crossing his legs.

She rolled her eyes. "You sound like Cullen. It's just a flu. I'll be fine in a few days." The talking brought around her cough again and she buried her head beneath the blankets to contain it. When the fit ended, she groaned, her chest tight and her back and stomach muscles sore.

"You don't sound fine. You sound miserable," Dorian pointed out with a small grin, his mustache lifting at the sides.

"It's good to see you, though. What brings you back?" She scooted up toward the headboard, leaning against it to rest her back. She closed her eyes, feeling the warm burn behind her lids that told her that the fever had not yet broken. Azure rocked the bed as he stood and moved to pad closer to her lying back down and settling his head in her lap again. She mindlessly began to run her hand along his soft scales.

Dorian scoffed and she could picture the wave of his hand, his rings shimmering in the light as he spoke. "I can only take so much of my idiot countrymen before I need to return to the sanity of Skyhold. It seems I picked a bad time, however."

"Have you seen Bull, yet?" she wondered, opening her eyes to peek at him.

He nodded. "The great oaf was ever so pleased with himself that he surprised me by being here. He and Cullen were down in the ring beating on each other."

She chuckled softly, wincing as the act aggravated her sore stomach. She rubbed her hand over it beneath the fluffy blankets, feeling the twisting of the baby. "And you didn't stay to watch?" she asked before more coughing interrupted her teasing.

When she'd finished, Dorian handed her the cup of water she had near the bed on the nightstand. "Only for half an hour," he admitted with a chuckle of his own. "That's when your man called the match and said he was going to check on you. Bull pointed out that it was to be the third time since lunch, so I offered to take his place." He grinned wider. "I figured a change of bone structure might be welcome."

"My hero," she said with a laugh.

Dorian stayed with her until near dinner time, catching her up on the goings on outside Skyhold and making sure she had enough to drink. The longer she sat up talking, and enduring each fit of coughing that shook her, the worse she felt. Her back was aching and her stomach cramping from the overuse of muscles due to the cough and normal growing pains that came with her pregnancy.

When Cullen finally poked his head in again, Azure got up and bounded to him, nudging his hip with his head as if he were trying to communicate something. He acknowledged Azure and then pointed to the much too small bed that the dragon still liked sleeping on in spite of having grown out of it. With a huff that sparked tiny bolts of lightning, he hung his head and went to the bed to drop down and curl his neck around himself. Philippa smiled wearily at Cullen as he sat on the opposite side of the bed and just as Dorian had, placed the back of his hand on her forehead. "Your fever still hasn't broken," he said gently.

She nodded, her head aching slightly. "Dorian here has been making sure I get enough fluids... but I need to pee, now."

Dorian smirked as Cullen snorted. "Would you like a hand getting to the privy?"

It was only a few feet from the bed, but it looked like a mile when she glanced over at the door. She nodded. "Please..." With a grunt, Cullen stood, letting her scoot across the bed to where he waited. She carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed and the movement turned her back to Dorian. She winced as she stood, the cramping in her lower abdomen nearly unbearable. Cullen let her lean on him, helping her to shuffle to the doorway. "I've got it from here," she said with a forced smile, patting his chest. She closed the door as Cullen turned to Dorian and the two exchanged pleasantries, pretending they weren't concerned. As she went to sit after dropping her pants, a swell of nausea washed over her body and dread seeped into her gut. She choked out her next words as she stared down into her smalls. "Cullen! I need Finn! I'm bleeding!"

There was a brief pause before she heard cursing and Cullen said to Dorian in a shaky voice, "Watch her while I'm gone... please."

She heard his footsteps retreating and Dorian's slow gait as he approached the door. She cleaned herself up and stood, opening the door. Her stomach still cramped and she practically fell into him when she took her hand from the door. "Surprise," she choked with half a chuckle as he guided her back to the bed.

"Fasta vass," Dorian gasped as she doubled over once she sat on the edge of the bed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

She glanced up at him, tears in her eyes. "We went into this with low expectations. We never even thought I could carry this far. Years ago in Kirkwall, I took a Qunari spear to the gut..." She paused as another fit of coughing wracked her. When it ended, another wave of pain surged through her. She hugged herself, taking note of how very little movement she was feeling from inside. "It damaged my uterus..."

"Say no more," Dorian interrupted, sitting down beside her. "Try to relax, darling. Panicking isn't good for either of you." Azure got up from his bed, sensing her distress and moved back around the bed to sit on the floor beside her, his head tipped.

Dorian sat beside her on the edge of the bed, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, trying to calm her crying, but even as quickly as Cullen made it back with Finn, she could tell it was too late. She felt woozy and the aching in her back and stomach had increased tenfold.

Finn charged up the stairs ahead of Cullen and skidded to a halt on his knees in front of her. "Maker's breath, Phil..." he sighed as she felt the pull of his magic as he laid his hands on her protruding belly. "How far along?"

She sniffed, swallowing her tears so she could answer. "Nineteen weeks."

Finn fell into physician mode, focused on the patient at hand, his face screwed up in the effort to pretend he wasn't working on his best friend. "Any other signs of fetal distress before today?"

She shook her head. "No. Everything's been fine."

Cullen knelt in front of Dorian and took her hand. She squeezed his tightly and gritted her teeth. "She caught the flu that's been going around all week. She's had a fever all day that won't break, and her coughing fits are getting worse."

Finn sighed again, his voice even. "Pregnancy compromises the mother's immune system." She felt his magic receding and she whimpered. "I'm sorry, Phil... I..." he paused and cleared his throat, unable to maintain his professionalism as he took her other hand. "I have herbs that can curb the flu symptoms, but we need to get you down to the infirmary before you loose too much blood. Can you walk?"

She shook her head, the tears still falling. "I'll... I can carry her," Cullen said, his voice hollow.

She looked at him apologetically, but his gaze was a million miles away, his shoulders slumped. Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to fall, but he blinked them away, shaking his head. She lowered her gaze to her belly, now empty of life, wishing she could feel just one more flutter of movement, but there was nothing but pain. When her bangs fell over her face, they caught on her cheeks. Dorian kindly brushed them aside. "Luckily at this time of night, we likely won't have an audience," he said quietly.

Finn stood first, followed by Cullen. Dorian's arm slipped from her shoulders, lingering consolingly down her back. They both kept hold of her hands, pulling her to her feet. Cullen allowed her to fall against him before dipping to scoop her into his arms. She shuddered, the fever still messing with her core temperature. Dorian took a blanket and draped it over her as she huddled against Cullen's chest and buried her face in his neck, hugging him tightly. They made for a somber procession from her tower, through the main hall and the courtyard then down the long stairs to the infirmary building.

Between the fever, the blood loss, and the shock reaction of losing the baby, Philippa wasn't certain she was even there for most of the trip. She breathed deep of Cullen's familiar scent of honeysuckle and petrichor, and only whimpered slightly when she was jostled as he set her down on a mildly soft surface. One of the infirmary beds she vaguely realized.

When he stepped aside to let Finn go to work, he didn't go far, his hand beside her head on the pillow, even though Finn couldn't let him touch her because of the magic he needed to use. "I'm sorry, Cullen," she mumbled before Finn's magic put her to sleep and pushed her into the Fade.

She could have reached out for happy memories to sculpt the Fade around her, but she simply didn't feel up to bothering. She dropped onto the ground, not even willing a chair or something soft to lay on into existence. She curled into the fetal position on the ground of the Fade huddling around herself. She didn't have tears to cry, or an ache in her chest. She didn't want to wail in sorrow like she had when she thought Solona and Garrett had been lost. She felt numb, her thoughts barely linking together coherently. She had always met life head on, muscling through the pain to find a solution and coming out the other side victorious. In this, she was powerless. Nothing could be done to fix this.

Out of nowhere, the wailing of an infant jerked her into a sitting position. Instinct kicked in and she was on her feet, frantically hunting for the source of the crying. Her logical brain would have told her to stop. Ignore the crying baby in the Fade. Nothing here was real. But the side of her that had just lost her child, that yearned to have a chance to hold that babe to her chest and soothe the crying overruled logic.

The Fade started to shape itself around her as she ran, a building taking shape. She recognized her surroundings. She stopped in her tracks, a second voice joining the wailing of the child. "No! You can't take him!" She rushed through the corridors of Kinloch Hold, following the sounds. "Cullen! Do something!"

She stopped short behind a sea of templars blocking her view. She was beyond sense as her Fade self cried and shouted from behind the door just ahead. She pushed bodily through the crowd, her heart racing in terror. She burst in the room, the actors in this particular dream ignoring her presence as they went about their business. She saw herself, weakened and desperate, held down on a birthing bed by Finn, his expression pained. Her arms were outstretched and she screamed her throat raw. At the foot of the bed, Cullen stood, his posture rigid as he stared angrily in the direction she was reaching. Her eyes swept across the room and she gasped as she saw Meredith. Her body was as it had been when she died, the skin blackened and hardened to stone, rivulets of red etched beneath the surface. In her deformed arms, a tiny bundle writhed and screamed in a terrified and desperate wail. "This... thing... is an abomination," Meredith preached, her voice raspy and withered. "A byproduct of the sinful joining of a mage of the Circle and one of my own templars. I was not vigilant enough, and I shall not suffer abominations!"

"If you lay a finger on him, so help me..." Cullen growled, taking a step toward Meredith, his fists balling tightly at his sides.

"You will do nothing! I will tolerate insubordination no more than I tolerate abominations. Step back! That is an order!" Meredith responded.

"No..." Cullen stated in a dangerous tone that she had never heard from his lips. He lifted the hand that had been obstructed by his body, and she saw a vial in his fist. Breathing started to become difficult as she watched the dream play out, feeling powerless to do anything about it but stare. "If I have to lose myself to save them..."

"No!" The Philippa on the bed cried, one of her reaching arms diverting toward Cullen, but it was too late. He glanced at her apologetically as his thumb released the cork in the bottle, and he downed the contents. He dropped the bottle and almost immediately, veins of red began to ripple up his flesh, standing out starkly against his pale complexion. He grabbed his head, crying out in pain and doubling over. Through his clothing, spikes of red lyrium began to jut out of his flesh.

Suddenly, the nightmare paused, and Philippa swiftly inhaled a breath of surprise as the creature that had taken Meredith's form glanced around with a frown. Philippa melted to her knees as a familiar voice interrupted the scene. "Dark and dismal dreams built to deepen despair. She's already aching. There's no room for you. Leave..."

"This one is mine," Meredith insisted. "The dreamer is broken and I can mend her from the inside."

"You have nothing to offer me, demon," Philippa whispered with a cringe, never in her life wishing as badly as she did then that she could give in.

She felt Cole kneel beside her and his hand fell gently on her back. "Despair is feeding the flames of your grief, molding memories that make you desperate. It wants you to say yes," Cole said gently. "But you are a dreamer... Your mold is more."

Philippa knew she had the power to banish the demon, but she felt so hollow, like she had taken a smite to the chest. She looked over at Cole, his blue eyes shimmering beneath the floppy brim of his hat and the strands of blonde hair that always fell over his face. "Help me... Please..." she whimpered, the sudden sensation of a two ton dragon settling on her chest shoving a sob from her.

His lips turned up slightly in a bitter smile. "It's why I answered..." He stood and approached the demon as she sat on her heels, her hands limp in her lap. One of Cole's angry looking daggers appeared in his hand and he said, "She wants you to go."

The demon laughed, making Philippa cringe at the oily sound of it's true voice. "And what will you do, Compassion, if I refuse?"

"I wouldn't test that if I were you," Philippa warned softly, knowing Cole was more than willing to cut down the demon if it didn't do as he asked.

It turned to her and scowled. "You won't always have your pet spirit to do your dirty work, dreamer. I will be back," it threatened before portaling itself away, the illusions of the dream disappearing in puffs of smoke.

Philippa heaved a ragged sigh and drew her legs out from under her to fold them in a crisscross position before leaning her elbows on her thighs and burying her face in her palms. She felt, more than heard, Cole moving to sit down beside her. "Your hurt is so deep I felt you reaching across the Fade miles away from Skyhold. I had to help."

She rubbed at her face and then dropped her hands. He immediately took the one closest to him and held it. "I didn't mean to hurt so loudly," she said, clutching his hand tightly.

Cole screwed his face up as if trying to understand something. "I'm sorry, Phil. Your thoughts are so confused, it's making me confused... You were pregnant... but now you're not..."

She held up her free hand, flinching. "Yes, I was pregnant, but I got sick... the flu. I have some preexisting complications that make having a baby much harder for me than most people. I don't know if it was the flu, or the complications, or a combination of the two, but..."

"You don't need to finish." He smiled sweetly. "When you talk, your jumbled thoughts fall into place like the pieces of a puzzle."

She sighed. "At least my brain still knows how to function. I'm not sure I can say the same for my heart." She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. "Will you just sit with me for a little while?"

When Philippa woke up, she could barely open her eyelids, so she kept them closed, her muddled mind telling her that Finn had her on some sort of magical sedative. Her body ached, and she felt weak, like she hadn't eaten in a week. Her head was pounding. As the world came into focus around her, her other senses kicking in when her eyes failed her, she heard voices talking a short distance away. "She's a healer. If you wake her up, she could..."

Finn cut Cullen off with a sharp hiss. "She is far too weak to even attempt a small healing spell, let alone the massive spirit summoning required to do what needs to be done." He groaned, and she could picture him running nervous hands through his floppy hair. "I warned her...I told her she shouldn't... _I_ can't help her, Cullen."

"Well, that's unacceptable," Dorian's voice chimed in.

"She has a collection of bloody mages living in Skyhold. You mean to tell me there isn't one here that can save her life?" Cullen barked angrily, his voice choked.

There was a heavy sigh that left Finn's lips, and Dorian spoke. "If you know something we don't it's best you share it, Aldebrant." She felt the tingling of magic as Dorian became agitated.

Another brief pause stretched over the room and underneath all of the silence, she could hear Azure's soft rumbling beside her, before Finn said, "There is only one mage I know strong enough in the Spirit Healing branch to even match Phil's power... You're not going to like this..."

Philippa lost track of the days as she laid in a semi conscious state. The snippets of conversation she caught made little sense to her addled mind. She had a constant string of people by her side as time passed. She recognized most of them by scent, as she didn't even have the energy to open her eyes to let them know she was awake. Some of them talked to her, some held her hand, and others simply sat with her in silence. Most often, it was Cullen with her, but every now and then, his hand slipped out of hers when someone else would come in and order him to bed. That someone was usually Dorian who would stay for a few hours until Finn would come in to take his place. When he inevitably fell asleep with his head on the bed beside her, Cole would sneak in and sit on the opposite side of the bed and hold her hand until morning.

One day, the routine shifted. As Cullen's hand slipped from hers. She felt another replace it, and the scent of leather and oil replaced the honeysuckle. "Hey, sister." Garrett's free hand ran through her hair. "I'll understand if you don't get up." He chuckled softly and if she had had the energy, she would have reached up and slapped him after rolling her eyes. Instead, she struggled to maintain consciousness so she could listen to his gruff voice. Another pair of voices were talking in hushed tones across the room. "You know, I struggled with the decision to give your spymaster the information about where Anders and I had been living since Kirkwall. Apparently, I made the right choice in handing it over. Here's the deal. I'm going to need you to pull through this so your boyfriend doesn't hang us from the ramparts..."

Another familiar chuckle swam into focus as Garrett's hand flinched in hers. "I promise, love, I'll do everything I can."

The next time Philippa woke, her head was clearer than it had been in what felt like weeks. Finn's coma magic had been strong. The muscles in her stomach still felt sore, but it was deeper than it had felt before. She flexed her fingers, a slight tingling sensation in the tips telling her that whatever magic had been keeping her asleep had also been keeping blood flowing to her extremities. "There she is..."

She was finally able to open her eyes, blinking rapidly against the light that filtered in when she did. After a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut again and frowned, slowly recognizing the voice she hadn't heard in years. "Anders?"

"In the flesh," he said lightly. She forced her eyes open and looked toward his voice. He still had the same nearly pointless ponytail he had sported the day she met him, the strawberry blonde locks that escaped the tie falling around his face. His cheeks were fuller than she remembered from the last time she had seen him, and his clothes didn't seem to be hanging off a skeleton anymore. His honey eyes managed to be both relieved and sympathetic as he flicked them briefly over her person when she shifted to sit up. "Easy..." His hand fell on her shoulder before she even made it an inch off the pillow. "I healed most of your internal issues, but you know as well as I do that I can't cure anemia. You've lost a lot of blood in the last few weeks, and your body needs rest."

"Weeks?" she mumbled, lifting her still tingling hand and pinching the bridge of her nose. "It was just a miscarriage..."

"That's... one way to put it..." he said as one of his brows rose. "I'm sorry, Phil. If I had bothered to take a closer look in Kirkwall, I..." he sighed and rubbed his own face. "I could have saved you this pain..."

"I knew the risks when I got pregnant..." she said softly, looking away from him to blink away tears.

He was silent for a brief stretch before the hand on her shoulder finally shifted away and he took hold of her hand. "Finn filled me in on everything when I got here. This took a bit more than a spell to fix. You were so far along that I needed to go in surgically. While I had access to your womb, I took the liberty of correcting the mistake I made when I healed that spear wound. I know it doesn't help with the pain of this loss, but it should make things much easier should you ever choose to try again." He shrugged sheepishly.

She propped herself up on her elbows, ignoring his disapproving tut and closing her eyes against a wave of dizziness. When she opened her eyes again, she looked at him. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't found a way to blame my templar lover for this, Anders. Not that I'm not grateful, but Cullen isn't your favorite person. Why would you help us?"

He flinched and his gaze flicked away briefly as he sighed. "When we received word about the miscarriage, and I found out who the father was, I'll admit, I was shocked, but if there's one thing you've always been good at, it's choosing the right person to give your heart to. If you love him, that likely means he's a good person."

She smiled briefly. "You certainly think highly of yourself," she said teasingly, reverting to her usual coping mechanism.

He looked up from where he had been studying their clasped hands, his own smirk creasing his laugh lines that she was glad to see hadn't faded over the years of him being so serious all of the time. "I'm not naive enough to believe you ever loved me, Phil. Somehow, you knew exactly who I was, and you kept yourself at a distance, even while we were together. Your twin doesn't seem to have inherited that same sensibility." They sat together quietly for a few minutes until he broke the silence again. "I lost count of all the letters I wrote to you and then balled up and ignited before I sent them... Hawke told me about what you did at Adamant. If it weren't for you, I would have gotten a very different letter from Varric than the one I did. Thank you for going back for him..."

She shrugged, lowering herself back down as he slipped a second pillow beneath her head. "He's my brother. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

He snorted. "Just take the bloody thanks, Phil."

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Fine. You're welcome... and thank _you_ for coming here to help. I'm sure it can't be easy for you and Justice."

"Are you kidding?" he asked, his eyes widening. "You've managed to do the exact thing we've been fighting for... _I've_ been fighting for since the first time I escaped Kinloch. Mages are not only free, but thriving in your Academy. I'm almost jealous of Finn's teaching job."

"We could always use more talented mages helping out..." she suggested.

He shook his head. "Skyhold is good for a visit, but Hawke and I... we've carved a life out for ourselves. I'm eager to return."

"So, where is everyone else?" she wondered, noting the small ray of sunshine trying to make it's way in through the front window.

"Hawke is keeping everyone distracted while I worked my magic. He's particularly tickled that you have a pet dragon, by the way. It's completely up to you when I go and fetch them," he answered with a grin.

"I don't know about a crowd," she said, biting her lip. "But I would like to see Cullen. Were you able to get a read on how he's holding up?"

"You mean between hateful glares?" he asked chuckling. "No. I pretty much arrived, talked to Finn, and then set to work." He stood from his seat and stepped away with a small smile. "I'll go and tell everyone I'm finished."

She reached out and took his hand again, squeezing lightly. "Thank you, again."

He shrugged. "I mean you're my sister in law, so I suppose I care what happens to you."

She snorted. "Oh, shut up."

He left her alone and as soon as her thoughts were her own, her heart began to ache. She rolled slowly onto her side, feeling the still healing wound where Anders had cut into her womb to remove any traces of her pregnancy and to fix her damaged uterus. Her throat was tight and she swallowed the tears, trying to focus on the fact that Anders had managed to make having children in the future a possibility. The door slowly creaked open and Cullen stepped inside, Azure on his heels. Seeing him hurt. She curled more tightly around her too flat stomach as he closed the door behind them with a soft click, the persistent tears trying to force themselves free again. He approached the bed, sitting in the chair that Anders had abandoned and Azure circled around to the other side where he settled in to start his rumbling in an attempt to soothe her. Cullen sighed, his hand reaching to touch her, but then pulling back awkwardly, as if he didn't know what to do. Finally, he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed again, his posture falling apart. "How do you feel?"

She reached out with her own hand, taking his and he gripped her tightly when he realized she wanted him to touch her. "That's a loaded question," she said through the tightness in her chest.

"I suppose you're right..." he smiled bitterly. "Should we focus on your physical feelings, for the moment?"

She returned the expression. "Sore, dizzy, weak... nothing a few days of rest and some food can't cure..." He scooted the chair closer to where she laid and his free hand brushed through her hair as he set a sympathetic look on her. She watched his amber eyes, ringed in red, with dark circles beneath them as they traced her person. "I'm sorry..."

He flinched, but recovered quickly, his eyes flicking back to hers. "I feel terrible saying this, but when I realized you'd lost the baby... Andraste preserve me, it was nothing to the fear that I might lose you, too. I'm just relieved you're alive. There's nothing to be sorry for. We knew this was a possibility from the beginning. You can't blame yourself." He leaned in, kissing her hair.

"No one knows, right?" she asked softly as he pulled back and settled back in the chair, his fingers still playing gently in her hair.

He shook his head. "Somehow, Bull already knew, but he's not told anyone. I needed to involve your brother because of the... because of Anders..." he grunted out Anders' name like he had wanted to call him something more derogative, but refrained. "Cole showed up a few days after it happened. I'll assume he read your mind or some other oddness. As far as anyone else knows, you contracted pneumonia."

She breathed out a sigh. "Bull had my number the day he stepped foot back in Skyhold. I could tell by the way he looked me up and down and then offered to get drinks. Bloody Qunari."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, leaning on each other. He was studying her intently, his expression concerned. "You're pale..." he pointed out softly.

She nodded. "Anders said I was anemic."

"Finn couldn't get the bleeding to stop. It was lucky Leliana gave me the contact information for your brother before she left... Can I... Can I get you anything? You should eat," he suggested.

She nodded reluctantly in agreement, the thought of actually eating making her stomach churn. She knew she needed to rebuild her strength, so she complied. "Red meat, and leafy greens if you can find them," she said with a smile that hid her cringe.

He stood and kissed her forehead again. Squeezing her hand, he smiled sweetly. "I'll see what I can do. Is it safe to let your brother in? He was a wreck when he got here. I think he wants to talk to you."

"Sure. It's fine... thank you, Cullen. I love you." She smiled, slowly lifting herself up on her elbow and propping her pillows so she could sit up slightly.

"I love you more. I'll be back, soon," he promised.

Shortly after Cullen left, Garrett burst in the door, making Azure's head lift in surprise before he realized who it was and settled back down with a huff. "Maker's breath, can't I leave you alone to do anything?"

She smiled and shrugged. "How else would I get to see you? If I didn't screw up every few years, you would never come to visit."

He arched a brow and crossed his arms. "If I promise to visit more often, will you stop getting into trouble?"

"Probably not..." she said with another shrug.

He eyed her suspiciously. "So, Anders tells me you knew about your condition before you decided to tempt fate..."

She crossed her own arms. "I am a grown woman, you know."

"I do. I was there when you were born, remember?" he taunted in return. "I just... I worry about you, Phil. I always have... It's a good thing Anders fixed you up. You're likely the only hope this family has of carrying on the bloodline."

She nodded. "Unless of course you think you can get Anders pregnant... There is always Carver..."

Garrett scoffed. "Have you ever seen Carver around women?... as for me and Anders, it's not for lack of trying... he just doesn't have the hips for it."

"I don't know..." she said, biting her lip and thinking of Cullen. "Carver might not be that far gone. Awkward can sometimes work in a man's favor. It's endearing."

Garrett wrinkled his nose. "I really don't want to know. I prefer to _not_ think about my twin sister's sexual preferences." She allowed a short laugh to escape her and they both went silent. "Listen, Phil... I really am sorry. I can't imagine..."

"Don't..." she choked. She didn't think she could listen to any more condolences. She had cried in the Fade, but she had yet to mourn in the physical world, and she definitely didn't want to break down in front of her brother. "Just... thank you for being here. I don't really want to think about it right now..."

He nodded, his lips pressing together. "Anders and I will be here for about a week while you're healing. If you decide you do want to think about it... I'm here."

By the morning, her vitals had returned to normal, and Finn and Anders had both poked their heads in on her during the night to make sure the healing spell for the surgical cut was doing it's job properly. With time to sleep that didn't involve Finn's sleep spell, her dreams turned to horrors again. All of the demons in the area seemed able to sense her grief and they were desperate to take advantage of her weakened state. She did her best to avoid them, ignoring the illusions and baited traps. By the afternoon, she was eager to be free of the infirmary so she could stop being alone with her thoughts. Dorian seemed to understand, and he took her to supper in the tavern and then they headed to the library where they talked and she helped him re-shelve some books until the sun started to go down and her small pool of energy dwindled. He escorted her to the door to her quarters before hugging her tightly and whispering soft apologies in her ear.

Once she passed through the door and made it upstairs, she numbly stopped in the middle of the room, at a loss for what to do next. She was tired, but if she slept, she would be taunted by demons. As she stood, contemplating her next move, suddenly the reality of her situation fell on her, and her legs went weak. She moved to her bed before she fell over, and leaned heavily on the nearest post, her chest heaving. She sobbed so hard she could barely catch her breath, every little thought reminding her of the loss she had suffered. She had never felt a bond like the one she'd shared with her unborn child, in spite of never even getting to chance to hold the babe.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and as he said her name softly, she turned and buried her face against his neck, still sobbing. Cullen's arms wrapped around her, holding her close to his chest. "That's it..." he mumbled softly, stroking her hair. "Let it out."

She couldn't recall how long she stood supported in his arms, but finally, her chest felt hollow again and she could catch her breath, the tears slowly ebbing. Still he held her until a heavy sigh wracked her body. "I have fought demons, dragons, crazy templars, would-be gods, Darkspawn... you name it, and I've probably been stabbed by it... but this pain..." she couldn't finish.

He pulled slightly back from her, their bodies still pressed together. Lifting her chin so her eyes met his, she smiled his most endearing smile, and in spite of the hurt behind the expression, she couldn't help the swell of her heart that she was lucky enough to have a partner that understood and was there. "We'll get through this... together... whatever you need."

She returned the smile with one of her patented coping chuckles attached to it. "I mean... we've been through worse, right?"

He recognized her chuckle for what it was and pressed his lips together as his thumb stroked along her jaw. "You look exhausted. How about we get some sleep and perhaps things will look better in the morning?" He suggested gently.

She drew back from him and took his hand in hers, pulling him to the bed. After kicking off her boots, she slipped between the blankets that had been freshly changed while she was in the infirmary, and after a moment to remove his over clothes, he climbed in behind her. She huddled against him, her back to his chest. His arm slipped around her waist and he hugged her close, taking her hand and clasping their fingers. "I love you," she whispered as his cheek settled atop hers.

He kissed her cheek and settled his head again, briefly squeezing her. "I love you, more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never personally experienced a miscarriage, but I have been pregnant. Imagining a loss like that was the best I could do, and I hope the emotion feels real.


	48. A Much Needed Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa does her best to continue on after her and Cullen's devastating loss.

Physical recovery was swift, but Philippa's heart hurt for some time. Each day, it became only a little bit easier to not break into tears with each wandering thought. The support of her friends and family meant a lot. Garrett and Anders stuck around for nearly two weeks before going back home. Dorian stayed in Skyhold for nearly five months before grudgingly leaving again. Bull was not far behind.

Philippa threw herself into work at the Academy, glad whenever another of her companions came to visit. Cassandra was gone for weeks at a time, hunting down the rest of the missing Seekers and evaluating which of them were worthy of continuing the Order. Blackwall had left ages ago to officially join the Wardens and wrote to her often about his new life. Varric went back to Kirkwall around the same time to continue helping to rebuild the city. It had never truly recovered after Anders destroyed the Chantry. Sera stopped in more often than the rest, her and Philippa taking on the task of trying to teach Azure how to fly on his slowly forming wings, and when not doing that, taking it upon themselves to learn to bake cookies together in Skyhold's kitchen, much to the chagrin of the plump dwarf named Helga that usually handled the baking in the keep. Cole was more difficult to get rid of, but finally Philippa convinced him that Charter still needed him for rescue missions and he left for Caer Bronach the next day.

Being alone was the hardest part of her day to day, making paperwork an almost impossible task, unless she was reading letters from all corners of Thedas. She got frequent letters from Dorian after he left, monthly letters from Solona, bi-weekly notes from Garrett and Anders, and a few surprise letters every now and then from her other siblings. It had been good to hear from Bethany after Garrett had given Aveline the all clear to return with her and Nathaniel after Corypheus had been defeated. Carver made himself easy to forget when his brief letters were easily outdone by his mage partner, Corinne's, reports.

Philippa was getting restless around Skyhold, not having left in nearly a year. One day while she and Cullen were taking a break from work to play a game of chess, it made her think about one of their first games together and him mentioning his siblings. "We should go to South Reach," she blurted, making him jerk in surprise and knock over a few pieces on the board.

As he reached to right the mistake, he lifted his gaze to her and cocked a brow. "Why?"

She shrugged. "You said your family moved there after the Blight. When's the last time you saw them? Do they even know about me?" She knew that Cullen was admittedly terrible at keeping his family informed about the details of his life, including where he was and whether he was alive, forcing his sister to 'track him down' so she could keep tabs on him.

"Where's this coming from, Phil?" he wondered, finally fixing the pieces and taking his turn.

She reached across and took her turn, biting her lip. "You've met all of my siblings, more or less, I just thought..." she sighed. "I _need_ to get out of Skyhold, and I thought maybe you might want to see your family... introduce me..."

He studied her for a moment as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap, and then the right corner of his mouth lifted. "If you truly wish to meet my family, I will make the arrangements for the trip."

Philippa smiled. "Oh, but you can't tell them you're coming. I want to see their faces when you just show up."

Cullen chuckled lightly. "I'm quite certain that will be detrimental to my health, but if you insist, I'll make the visit a surprise."

About two and a half weeks later, Philippa and Cullen had made the ride from Skyhold on a pair of horses and were approaching South Reach. They had left Azure in Finn's care, much to Ariane's delight. She had been the one to finally tame the dracolisks that had been brought to the clueless Dennett. The already tame dragon was a walk in the park. Getting out of Skyhold had done wonders for them both, it seemed, as they spent most of the ride exchanging pleasant conversation like they hadn't done in quite some time. Philippa felt like her smiles were actually genuine for the first time since the miscarriage.

The closer they got to South Reach, the more Cullen reverted to his eighteen year old nervous self. He continuously warned Philippa that his older sister, Mia was likely to grill her within an inch of her life about their personal affairs the second she found out about their relationship. She continued to assure him that she could handle the scrutiny. The more he warned her, the more she believed it.

Cullen squinted at the addresses along the fences as they rode through the small settlement. As they approached a nicely kept farmhouse, he slowed his horse and grunted. "Here we are. This is Mia's address." Philippa reigned her horse up next to his as he attached his reins to the post outside. "She hasn't seen us yet. It's not too late to turn around and go back..." he suggested with a lopsided grin.

She stepped into the hug he offered with her own grin as she looped her own horse's reigns over the post. "Embarrassed to be seen with a mage, Ser Rutherford?"

He rolled his eyes before leaning down to offer her a brief kiss. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything..."

She snorted and backhanded his chest as she pulled from his arms. "I'll be sure to tell Mia you belong in the barn tonight."

"I'm certain she would take you up on that offer," he chuckled in return.

As they approached the front door, they heard a loud thwapping sound coming from the back of the house, Cullen shrugged and they headed around the house to where the sound was coming from. A tall slim woman with her curly blonde hair pulled back in a tail was standing beside a clothes line. A rug was draped over the line and she was whacking it with a rug beater. There was no mistaking the Rutherford family genes. It was like comparing Philippa and her siblings. Philippa nudged him, her hand still clasped in his, and she chuckled. "Now I know where you got your skills against the training dummies..."

At the sound of her voice, Cullen's sister turned, her eyes almost a mirror image of Cullen's. She looked between the two of them and before more than a muttered "Andraste's tears," slipped from her mouth, she was rushing for them, singling him out, the rug beater raised in the air. Cullen dropped Philippa's hand and ducked out of the way of the swing, his eyes widening. "The Void with you Cullen! It's been nearly twenty years with barely a few letters and now you just show up here!" Some minor obscenities were thrown after him as he kept out of arms reach as Mia chased him around the garden, still swinging the rug beater. Philippa began to laugh as she watched the show, but the sound drew Mia's attention back to her. "And who in the Maker's name are you?" She paused her chasing to look Philippa up and down with narrow eyed scrutiny.

Philippa cleared her throat and stifled her laughter as Cullen slowly moved to stand at her side again, his hand falling lightly on her back. "Philippa Hawke. But, usually I just go by Phil. It's nice to finally meet you. Mia, is it?"

Mia's gaze slipped between the two of them and Cullen's affectionate touch and her angry glare softened. She pushed a stray curl from her face as she sighed. "Maker's breath, Cullen... Your curt letters failed to mention you were involved with the Inquisitor. What else don't I know?"

Cullen's cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry, Mia. I've been busy..."

Mia raised the rug beater threateningly and Cullen flinched. "Too busy to write a simple letter? Don't give me that..."

"To be fair, my boss is a tyrant... works me day and night..." he said with a small grin.

Philippa snorted and shrugged, "It's true. I'm a hard-ass."

She glanced up at him and they shared a small smile while Mia watched, her makeshift weapon lowering slowly. Then Mia sighed. "You're just in time for Family Dinner Friday. Branson and Rosalie should be here in about an hour. I'll pluck another chicken to add to the table."

Philippa stepped forward. "I'd be glad to help. I don't know the slightest thing about plucking a chicken, but you could show me. I'm a fast learner."

Mia smiled. "Perhaps you could just keep me company?" Her eyes flicked to Cullen. "I'll deal with you later. For now, I trust you know how to chop firewood?"

Cullen nodded and offered Philippa a shrug and a smile before heading toward where Mia pointed him. Mia set her rug beater aside and rubbed her hands on her apron before leading Philippa inside. The house was neatly decorated, and the roaring hearth and the smell of baking were inviting. Despite outward appearances, the house felt larger inside because of the way Mia had the furniture arranged. There was a quaint living space just inside the door on the right, and a dining space on the left. The kitchen took up nearly the whole back wall, complete with plenty of counter space, and a large oven. A narrow flight of stairs led up to the second floor, which Philippa was guessing was easily three bedrooms. "Your home is lovely," Philippa complimented, the space reminding her of the home she had briefly lived in as a child.

Mia looked over her shoulder with a warm smile. "Thank you." Mia paused, biting her lip as she looked Philippa up and down. "I don't mean to be 'that sister', but Cullen is so aloof... I barely know a thing about you. Or him, for that matter..."

Philippa chuckled softly. "If you saw the piles of paperwork he deals with everyday, you would understand. I've actually gone into his office and couldn't see him through the stacks. Convincing him to delegate everything to make this trip wasn't easy."

"So this was your idea?" she asked, her expression falling slightly.

"Only partially," Philippa corrected. "Trust me, if he didn't want to be here, he wouldn't have come. He's stubborn like that."

Mia finally let out a small chuckle. "Don't I know it... So tell me about yourself. Did you know Cullen before the Breach?"

"We actually met... Maker's breath... 20 years ago in the Circle," Philippa explained.

"You're a templar, too, then?" Mia asked as she began to rummage around in the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder to offer Philippa a seat.

"No, actually. I'm on the other side of the Circle. A mage," Philippa told her.

Mia glanced back again, one brow raised in a familiar expression that Cullen often used. "Frankly, that's surprising. After what happened in Kinloch, I never thought Cullen would..."

"Trust anyone who could do magic?" Philippa finished with a grin.

Mia flushed slightly and turned back to her cooking. "I wouldn't have put it that way, but yes."

"It wasn't always easy. It took us a very long time, and a few near death experiences, to find mutual ground," Philippa glanced out the window that overlooked the backyard, seeing Cullen hard at work on the lumber pile. She smiled. "You know he'll chop that entire pile and then some if you don't go out there and relieve him after a while. Tremendous work ethic, your brother."

Mia laughed. "Serves him right after making me track him down so many times after he disappeared without word. Do you have family, Phil?"

Philippa nodded. "A twin brother and a younger brother and sister."

"Then you know what it is to worry. I'm the eldest. Bran and Rosie are here all of the time, but Cul has always been the odd one out. He gets all prickly when you ask him anything personal. It's like a simple letter is too much of a bother..."

Philippa stood and moved to stand beside Mia. "I know it isn't the same thing, but I am really good at letters. They were my only link to the outside world for most of my life." She laid a hand on Mia's shoulder. "I promise I will add you to my weekly letters."

Mia chuckled. "It doesn't even have to be weekly. _Anything_ is better than nothing."

Philippa patted the shoulder her hand was on. "Bi-weekly then. When I write to my twin, I'll write to you, too."

Mia smiled. "Cul picked a good one when he picked you."

Once the second chicken had been plucked and dressed, Philippa ended up helping Mia salt, oil and pierce some potatoes for baking as they got to know each other, letting Cullen chop wood until he ran out. Philippa watched him out the window hunch his shoulders, looking around as the ax dangled in his hand. When he realized he was out of wood, he lifted his hand to the back of his neck and looked toward the house, sheepishly shuffling his feet as if he wasn't sure if he dared face Mia without starting on the neighbor's woodpile as well. Mia snorted. "Go rescue your man before he strains something."

Philippa rinsed her hands in the washing bowl and headed back out to where Cullen stood. As she approached, he offered her a sweet smile. There was sweat on his brow, but he was in no way straining his abilities. "You look good out here chopping wood," she purred.

He hefted the ax to drop it onto his shoulder, his lopsided grin lifting the scar on his lip. "As good as you seem to find me in the training ring?" he asked suggestively.

"Loose the shirt and we'll talk," she chuckled, stepping up to give him a quick kiss. "Mia says it's safe for you to come in. Your other siblings should be here soon."

He dropped the ax, swinging it down to bury the tip in the trunk where he had been chopping. "So what are your impressions of each other, so far?" He asked as they headed back toward the house.

Philippa snorted. "What a silly question. You know everyone loves me, Cullen."

"Of course. Why did I ask?" he rolled his eyes.

As they approached the house, a man's voice filtered through the back door after they heard the squeal of a child. "Auntie Mia!"

"There's two horses tied up out front. Have you got company, Mia?"

Cullen pulled the door open and Philippa saw a small boy, probably four years old, hugging Mia in the middle of the living room. The man that had spoken could be none other than Cullen's brother Branson. He had the same blonde Rutherford curls, and Amber eyes. The woman with him was probably Bethany's age. She had light red hair and a kind smile as she looked up and noticed them entering. "Can you guess who's shown up out of the woodwork?" Mia said accusingly as she glanced behind her at Cullen.

The young boy who had managed to inherit his mother's red hair and his father's curls looked around Mia to fix his eyes on Cullen and Philippa. His curiosity turned to mild shock as he looked from Cullen to his father and back again. Before he could say anything, another girl let herself in. "Sorry I'm late... am I late? Sorry regardless. I brought wine... Oh, hello."

Cullen's jaw dropped. "Rosie?"

It took a few moments as the much younger woman screwed her face up before gasping. "No shit... sorry, pardon my Orlesian..." she cringed, glancing at the young boy who now had Mia's hands clapped firmly over his ears.

As the four siblings stood staring at each other for a long stretch, none of them knowing what to say, Philippa fidgeted. Her urge to break the silence was interrupted by Branson's son. Much more loudly than was warranted because Mia's hands were still over his ears, he shouted, "Who's the man that looks like papa?"

Mia pulled her hands away and Branson knelt. Then boy went to him and Branson said, "Well, Jayden, that is your uncle Cullen."

"It's uh... nice to meet you, Jayden," Cullen said awkwardly, tensing beside Philippa.

Mia stepped in. "Has everyone here forgotten their manners?"

"Right!" Branson stood, and put his arm around the red head beside him. "This is my wife, Marissa."

Philippa smiled and stepped forward. "It's nice to meet you all. I'm Phil."

Mia stepped in and said, "Phil here helped convince our brother that he needed to come visit."

Rosalie smiled and moved toward the kitchen with her bottle of wine. "At least someone got through the layers of thick skull. It must have been magic."

Philippa shrugged and opened her mouth, but Mia beat her to it. "Well, Phil is a mage, so it just might have been."

"Whooooaa," Jayden said in awe, stepping away from his father's leg. "You can do magic?"

Philippa smiled. "I can..." She glanced up at Branson for permission and with a nod from him said, "Do you want to see?"

Jayden nodded vigorously. "Yes, please."

She took a knee beside the fascinated boy and held her palm out, face up. She drew on her mana and directed tiny sparks of lightning to her fingertips, letting them arch from one finger to the next. When she had rotated them back and forth twice, she closed her fist and summoned fire so when she opened her hand again, there was a small flame in the middle of her palm. "Do you want to hold it?" she asked with a devious grin. "I promise it won't bite." Jayden smiled back and nodded again. Philippa picked up her free hand, which still bore the mark from the Breach, and Jayden tipped his head to study it briefly before laying his open palm in hers. She cast a barrier around his hand and carefully tipped the fire into his palm. He stared at it wide eyed as it slowly petered out.

Philippa withdrew her hand and the barrier fizzled out. "Did you see that papa? I held fire!"

Philippa stood up, backing into Cullen. His hands landed on her shoulders as Branson made a fuss over the accomplishment. "Well, the food's nearly done, everyone wash up and we'll eat," Mia announced. "Cullen can tell us all about what he's been doing the last twenty years."

Dinner went swimmingly. Philippa managed to charm Cullen's family as she did most people who bothered to have a conversation with her. Jayden was absolutely fascinated with her, and Cullen by proxy who kept teasingly throwing small dispels into her magic when she was showing off for the boy. Jayden thought it was hilarious, and begged Cullen to show him how to do it. "We might have another templar in the family," Branson said jokingly, but it made Cullen flinch. Philippa reached over and placed her hand on his forearm reassuringly.

Mia noticed the interaction and rushed to change the subject, choosing the worst possible topic. "So, Phil, I understand you two have been together for quite some time. Have you thought about children? Or marriage?"

Philippa opened her mouth around the jab to the heart to retort with a joke, but Cullen's eyes flashed up from across the table from Mia and he glared menacingly. "Mia!" he snapped.

His sister drew back, a frown creasing her brow. His younger sister inhaled sharply, "That struck a nerve."

Before he could say another word, Philippa squeezed the hand she still had on his arm and spoke up. "With the Academy being so new and my duties as Inquisitor up in the air, now just isn't the time."

Mia's eyes flicked from her to Cullen and back again before she nodded. "I won't bring it up again..." After a few moments of awkward silence, Mia finally tried to steer the conversation again to a more neutral topic, asking Rosalie how her apprenticeship was going.

Once dinner was over, Philippa offered to assist Mia with the washing up while the others retired to the back yard. Once Cullen was out of earshot, Philippa began to clear the table. As she stacked the dishes, she looked up at Mia who was doing the same on the other side of the table. "I'm sorry Cullen snapped at you. He doesn't mean it, really. He was just looking out for me."

Mia paused her stacking to look at Philippa. "I can tell that wasn't just him being pissy. If you don't mind my asking, what happened?"

Philippa inhaled a deep breath and sighed it back out before speaking. "A few months ago, we... we suffered a miscarriage. I was nearly 20 weeks along. It hit us both pretty hard..." Philippa confessed.

"Maker's breath..." Mia was around the table in seconds. "I'm so sorry, Phil. I didn't mean to stir all of that up." She hugged her tightly and Philippa sank into the embrace. It was sisterly, much like the comfortable bear hugs that Garrett would give her.

"We do intend to try again, but it's still fresh... And Cullen's slow to trust the guarantee that it likely won't happen again even though the best spirit healer I know went in and fixed the problem." She sighed again. "He trusts _me_ and my magic because of everything we've been through together, but other mages, he's still a bit leery, sometimes."

"You'll get through it. I can tell you one thing. He loves you. I can see it every time he looks at you," Mia said with a smile.

Their stay in South Reach lasted a week, Mia insisting they stay in her guest bedroom instead of the inn. Philippa and her became fast friends, and Mia even showed Philippa a few tricks to help her finally beat Cullen at chess. Unfortunately, the trip couldn't last forever, and they were soon back on the road to Skyhold. As they rode along the King's road past the Brecilian Forest, Cullen moved his horse up beside hers and smiled. "I'm really glad we did this," he said.

Philippa scoffed. "The Rutherfords are a good clan. If all of my political meetings went as well as meeting your siblings, the Inquisition would be sailing instead of treading water."

"Leliana has been doing well with keeping everything afloat..." he assured her.

She looked at him with doubt. "That isn't going to last forever. From what Josie has been saying, we're being circled like chum..." She made a face at the continued metaphor.

He chuckled, reading her expression. "Whatever comes next, we'll handle it. It won't be the most difficult thing we've ever faced."

"True... I fought a god," she shrugged.

"Yes, and I fell in love with you," he teased.

"You win. That's definitely harder," she chuckled.

"It's getting late," he said, glancing up through the trees that were reaching out over the road from the woods. "We should probably stop and make camp."

Josephine was waiting for them when they returned, her expression nervous. "What is it, Josie?" Philippa asked, dismounting her horse and handing the reins over to Cullen so she could discuss things.

The ambassador wrung her hands in an uncharacteristic show of anxiety. "While you were away, Leliana sent an invitation to the Inquisition. In one month's time, the Exalted Council will convene, and it seems that the fate of the Inquisition will ride on the decision made there."

Philippa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I knew this was coming. It's been too quiet. Send Leliana... actually, never mind. I'll send the response. It's important it comes from me. Thank you, Josie... and relax. Everything will work out." She placed a hand on Josie's ruffled shoulder and smiled around her own fresh anxiety. It had been nice being away. She and Cullen had a chance to reconnect without the weight of their responsibilities. No sooner had they stepped foot back in Skyhold, there was a problem.

Cullen sauntered up behind her as Josie left her, and his hands fell on her shoulders. She leaned back into his touch, and he kissed the top of her head before his fingers began to massage her shoulders, then he rested his chin where he had kissed. "Welcome back to Skyhold, Inquisitor."

She turned in his arms and lifted her arms up to wrap around his neck. "We can still turn around. I don't think they saw us."

He snorted at her sarcastic grin and leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. "I'm fairly certain they did." Then he kissed her briefly.

"So, not that the tent wasn't fun, but we haven't slept in a proper bed in two weeks, and I am caked in road dirt..." she said with a devious grin.

He returned the grin. "I'll have water brought to your room right away."

She stepped out of his embrace and taunted over her shoulder as she sauntered away. "I'll meet you upstairs."


	49. An Unexpected Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Exalted Council hovers over their heads, Philippa gets a small amount of time to catch up with some people she hasn't seen in a while.

The Winter Palace looked much as she remembered it from the Empress' ball as they approached from the road on horseback. Philippa wasn't sure who should feel more overdressed. Herself, clad in a replica of the uniforms that the others were wearing, mask in place, or her poor horse, who was decked out in gold plated armor no more fit for a battlefield than aluminum but a hundred times heavier. Philippa held the reins loosely, allowing the beast free reign of his head. He was well trained, and used to Philippa's less than stellar riding. She had gotten much better in the last few years travelling with the Inquisition, mostly because of Dappleganger's infinite patience with his rider. Josephine had insisted she present herself formally, commissioning another of the Inquisition uniforms in her size. Philippa would have preferred her own clothing and a simple mask, but she understood the need, not complaining when Josephine handed over the jacket and her freshly polished mask from the Duchess' ball.

"Another parade, another bloody negotiation..." Cullen grumbled, shifting in his saddle and sneering beneath his own mask.

“Smiles, everyone,” Josie reminded them. “We must be careful how we present ourselves.”

“Why did Divine Victoria call the Exalted Council? She's kept Orlais from bothering us for the last two years,” Cullen murmured.

Skyhold was nestled quite nicely in the Frostback Mountains, midway between Ferelden and Orlais. It had been abandoned for centuries, neither of the countries paying it any heed until Philippa and the Inquisition moved in. Now, they were realizing that she and her considerable army were living on both their doorsteps, but paid no allegiance to either of them. Apparently this was a problem. She had smoothed concerns for months, assuring the worried nobility that she had no plans of hostility and Skyhold was now a place of refuge and learning, but her words were sounding more hollow every time she repeated them.

“At increasing political cost, yes,” Josie sighed. Philippa had read Leliana's letters and the situation looked dismal. They were being circled like chum in the water. She glanced to either side of her where representatives from Orlais and Ferelden had congregated to watch them parade into the Palace entry. “She has done all she can, but the Exalted Council has become necessary. Orlais would control us. And based on their _many_ marriage proposals, they have specific plans for you.” Philippa saw Cullen's lip curl back in disdain and snickered softly to herself. Every time they came to Orlais, Cullen was swarmed by unwanted inquiries into his personal life. Josie lifted her hand and waved her fingers up at the Ferelden representatives to their right. “Our real concern is Ferelden. They would see us disbanded entirely.”

Philippa was certain that she didn't want the Inquisition to be controlled or disbanded, but she might not have a choice if this went badly. Almost as soon as she passed through the Winter Palace gates, her palm started to tingle. She ignored the sudden reaction of the mark, not wishing to show any sort of weakness in front of all the delegates in the immediate vicinity. They reached the end of their parade and she dismounted, patting Dappleganger's soft nose and smiling as the tingling of the mark subsided briefly. "Where is the Council being held, Josephine?" she asked calmly.

"In one of the open air rooms off the gardens in the Royal Wing," Josephine informed her. "If you wish to get a look at the Chambers before we get locked in for days, do so now. Come tomorrow morning, you will want to be prepared for what we face."

Philippa nodded. "I think that's wise," she said, patting Josephine's arm and smiling. "I'll see you soon."

She made her way toward the Palace and found the Chambers easily enough. The farther into the Royal wing she got, the more her hand became a nuisance. When she reached the Chambers, before she even had much of a chance to look around beyond the tall statues decorating the pillars, the raised dais where the Council would sit, the multiple trappings hanging from the walls and rippling gently in the breeze, and the few other chairs in a semi circle behind a narrow table with two chairs behind it facing the dais, the mark crackled briefly with magic, trailing an uncomfortable sensation up her forearm. She lifted her hand to frown at it, but a voice sounded behind her and she closed her fist around the magic and snapped around to see Mother Giselle approaching.

“How have you been, Mother Giselle?” she asked kindly in response to Giselle's greeting, smiling through the tingling that was creeping up her arm.

“I spent the last summer in Emprise Du Lion, distributing food sent from the Exalted Plains. The Dales are finally recovering,” she said in her familiar thick accent.

Philippa crossed her arms, tucking the mark behind her other arm so she could chuckle and turn fully to face Giselle. “You've become quite the traveler these last few years.”

Mother Giselle conceded with a nod. “It keeps me out of trouble, Your Worship. I should mention that your forces at Suledin Keep were of great help. Please give my compliments to Baron DeJardins.” She quickly changed the subject. “Divine Victoria asked me to greet you on her behalf. She is currently attending to the Ferelden Ambassador's concerns.”

“In your opinion, how has the Chantry fared in the Nightingale's hands?” Philippa only received word from Leliana who had a way of making everything sound like peaches and cream. She knew that in reality, her revisions to the Chantry had caused quite a fuss.

“Its hardly for me to say, Inquisitor,” Mother Giselle said evasively.

Philippa's brow rose in disbelief. “With respect, Mother Giselle, that's never stopped you before.”

Giselle sighed. “Victoria has proven adept at winning allies with both her intelligence and her faith. It is a blessing in these trying times. We are lucky to have her.” That was a rehearsed statement and it made Philippa nervous.

“I should probably find her, then,” Philippa said with a nod, hoping to get out of the room and find Leliana. She hadn't seen her former spymaster in ages, and she missed her. Writing letters was just not the same as hearing another person's voice.

“I believe she would appreciate that, Your Worship,” Mother Giselle said with a nod. “The Divine sees the good that you can do, and have done. Duke Cyril will wish to greet you on behalf of Orlais. I believe he is currently speaking with the Tevinter Ambassador. Many of your friends have returned as well. I hope you have a chance to speak with them before the Exalted Council begins.”

Philippa balked. “I didn't think Tevinter gave a nug's ass. They sent a representative?”

Mother Giselle smirked deviously. “Yes, Your Worship. Dorian Pavus has taken the chance to return from Tevinter. It will be good to see him again. I owe him my apology. I allowed my distrust of Tevinter to cloud my judgment. He took a great risk coming to help us, and deserved better treatment.”

On top of her excitement to see Dorian, she chuckled. “You're going to apologize? To Dorian?”

Mother Giselle scowled at Philippa's amusement. “I have little patience for those who cannot admit they were wrong, Your Worship. Myself included... I will have to make my apology somewhere public. He will want an audience for his reaction.”

Mother Giselle certainly knew Dorian well. Philippa chuckled again, shaking her head. She was glad to hear that some of her other friends had returned as well. Perhaps she might have a chance to unwind before getting trapped in a room with angry nobles. “Thank you, Mother Giselle.”

“Your Worship, a final question, if I may. This Exalted Council... Ferelden would have the Inquisition disband. Orlais sees its power as another feather in a chevalier's helmet. What do _you_ wish to do with the Inquisition?”

Philippa had been pondering that very same question for weeks, since they had first heard about the Exalted Council. What _did_ she want? “Our original cause may be complete, but there is too much good that we can do for us to be disbanded because of fear,” she said with determination. The Inquisition had done so much good. It needed to continue.

“Then I wish you luck in the negotiations to come. Maker watch over you, Inquisitor. I will not keep you any longer.” Mother Giselle said before allowing Philippa to leave and head back out into the sunshine. Philippa kept her fist balled around the mark as it throbbed weakly. What in the Void was going on with the Anchor? She had been in control of it for years, now suddenly, it was going to act up?

Spring was upon the Winter Palace. The flowers in the gardens all bloomed, making Philippa's nose twitch. She set off through the courtyard to investigate which of her friends had returned. On one of the upper balconies, she ran into Josephine. The woman was practically frantic as she scribbled on her trusty clipboard. “It's been quite a day so far, has it not? I've been speaking with representatives from everywhere.” They had been there maybe ten minutes. Josie was going to Ambassador herself into an early grave if she continued.

“Is everyone behaving themselves, or are they giving you trouble?” Philippa asked with curiosity, trying not to inhale the overpowering scent of the flowers all around them. The Skyhold Gardens were not so pungent as the dozens of flowers the Orlesians stuffed in each planter.

“Not at all,” Josie said with a frown. “It is quite alarming. It means they are saving themselves up for later. Would you walk with me? I should like to take some air before the Exalted Council becomes inescapable...” Josie asked. Philippa nodded. She had been planning the same thing after all. The Council was not supposed to be starting until the next morning anyway. They had time. She followed the nervous woman down into the courtyard gardens and Josie worried the entire way. “The Palace has been most accommodating... we are, after all, here at their insistence... But the ministers may...” Josie clapped her lips shut and held up a hand. “No! No more talk of the Council. This meeting was to spend time with you in a more relaxed fashion...”

“You don't fool me Josie. I know your mind is still spinning,” Philippa teased, pointing at Josie's forehead.

Josephine sighed, gently shooing Philippa's finger. “Work carries a certain momentum. The truth is, there is a small entertainment happening tonight. To which I _may_ be able to find a pair of invitations...” she said with a leading smile.

“A pair? Did you want company?” Philippa asked.

“Very much so! In all the years you've worked with Orlais, you've had so little time to enjoy it's culture,” Josephine pointed out truthfully.

“It would have been nice to know that as soon as I stepped foot in the Court, I'd be playing the Game for all eternity,” Philippa agreed with a grin.

Josephine laughed sweetly. “It's strange, those were somehow simpler times. With all that's been happening, I promised myself a single evening out. I'd very much like to go with a friend.”

“Why not?” Philippa shrugged. “Josephine, I put myself in your capable hands.”

“Splendid!” Josephine hugged her tightly with a giggle. “I will arrange things at once. The past years have been so busy. We have earned at least a few moments of rest.” She patted Philippa's hands and then rushed off to make her preparations.

Philippa glanced around at her sudden solitary circumstance. Around the fountain she was standing by, she spotted a familiar dirty blonde half up hairstyle and grinned. She made her way around the fountain and saw Varric arguing in an annoyed tone with a red headed man who looked just as irritated with Varric. Varric spotted her and his expression completely changed as he ignored the man and pushed past him with his arms held out to the sides. “Charmer! Andraste's ass am I ever glad to see you!”

She bent to accept his hug. “Did I just rescue you from something?” she joked as the man scowled and crossed his arms.

"Is that what you call it?" the man that Varric had ditched said sourly, crossing his arms. He was dressed in a fine tunic in a powder blue and it contrasted with his flaming red hair.

Varric sighed and rolled his eyes. "This is Bran Cavin. Until recently, he was the viscount..."

" _Provisional_ Viscount," he sniffed, correcting Varric.

"Of Kirkwall," Varric sighed.

 _Until recently?_ “Meaning you aren't Viscount anymore?” Philippa asked conversationally.

“I have resumed my post as Senechal now that Master Tethras has been elected Viscount,” Bran announced.

Varric cringed as she looked at him with wide eyes. “You didn't tell me you were Viscount of Kirkwall!”

Bran sniffed again. “Well, it seems the two of you have a great deal to discuss. Why don't I just leave you to it?”

He walked a short distance away and Varric grunted, crossing his arms. “So... It turns out you fund enough reconstruction efforts in a city-state, the nobles give you the worst job they can think of.” He shrugged.

Philippa snickered. “I might need to sit down... You're the ruler of Kirkwall, now? All of it?”

Varric waved her off, scoffing. "That's not that big a deal. I have a really pointy crown that I wouldn't be caught dead wearing, but that's it. They voted me in because I got the harbor and businesses up and running again. They want shit fixed, and I can do that." He shuffled his feet, glancing at Bran before continuing with a grin. "Anyway, I was hoping I'd catch you before the summit got underway. I got you a sort of present." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a rolled parchment stamped with Kirkwall's seal. "Its official recognition of your title and holdings in Kirkwall. Congratulations! You're a comtesse now."

The senechal sputtered and paced back to them. “You can't actually do that without...”

“Too late!” Varric interrupted. “Already did it!” He went back to ignoring the senechal. “You should stop by Hightown some time to see your estate. It's pretty nice! For Kirkwall, anyway...”

“Proper disposition of empty estates is supposed to...” the senechal interrupted again.

“You were leaving us to talk, remember?” Varric said, glaring.

Bran waved a frustrated hand and sighed as he moved away again. Philippa watched him and then set a curious look on Varric. "Exactly why am I comtesse? I'm pretty sure it's not Give Your Friends Lavish Titles Day."

He chuckled. "What kind of Viscount would I be if I didn't abuse my position to give shit to my friends? I've got traditions to uphold! Oh, that reminds me..." he went in his pockets again and produced a large ornate key, handing it to her. "It's the key to the city."

Philippa snorted, as she took the key, wondering if he was doing all of this to ruffle the senechal's feathers. If so, it was working. “You can't give that away without approval from the council and a special ceremony! It...”

“It's just symbolic anyway,” Varric said with a shrug.

Bran scowled. "It controls one of the giant chain nets in the harbor," he hissed.

"Really?" Varric asked with a raised brow before he burst out laughing. "That... is so much better than I thought."

“This operates those giant chains?” Philippa gasped. She felt the devious smile creep over her face. “Can I try it?”

“No!” the senechal gasped.

Varric moved in front of him and took her elbow as she put on a fake pout. "I don't know how this council thing is going to end for the Inquisition. But whatever gets decided, you've got a place lined up in Kirkwall if you want it. Also... control of the harbor, I guess. It's the least I could do for my best friend's twin." He released her arm and smiled again. "Anyway, you should meet with the diplomats. We'll get in a game of Wicked Grace before I go back, though, right?"

“I wouldn't miss it,” she agreed with a smile.

“Don't bet any public buildings this time,” Bran warned.

Varric shooed her and she followed the gardens to where several people had gathered. It was a small meeting place that looked like it was normally a cafe, but for the Exalted Council, it was doubling as a tavern of sorts. Music filtered from around the corner, and when she approached, she saw Maryden strumming her lute. Cole was also hovering near a table beneath a squat awning outside the cafe. He leaned in and spoke to the man sitting at the table, and the man got up, abandoning the table. Cole smiled sweetly as she approached him. They chatted briefly, while he sprinkled the table with breadcrumbs for birds, before Maryden took a break from her strumming and Philippa realized from their interactions that Cole had himself a girlfriend. It made her happy to see him happy. He had come so far and she liked to think that she had been a large influence on him after he had turned human. He had spent a lot of time emulating her after Corypheus died, learning his place in the world.

Soon after, Sera spotted her and ran at her emphatically. "Here's you!" She hugged Philippa tightly. "And everyone! Glad to be back, all stuffed together. With the pressure full on. Again. Don't worry, 'Herald of Everywhere'. I came prepared. I know what everyone needs." Sera dragged her through the Palace, setting up a number of silly harmless pranks, like they did at Skyhold, before pulling her back to the cafe, giggling.

"I expected a roof," Philippa chuckled breathlessly as they both flopped into seats across a table from each other. The roof outside Sera's room in the tavern had become her and Philippa's favorite place to go after baking their cookies.

"It's early," Sera shrugged. "Anyway, that was a good run. It's all been a good run. I needed that, and I need..." she looked down, her eyes shifting nervously. "You know it's ending, right? We can say it won't, but nobs in places like this? All they _do_ is end things. They'll try a leash... or worse. But maybe you aren't ready to quit just because some 'Lord Piddlebits' is scared of us?"

"Do I seem like I'm ready to retire?" Philippa asked, lounging in her seat.

" _I'm_ tired!" she giggled. "I've never done anything for _years_. Point is, sooner or _sooner_ , all this changes. And you've helped me understand... too much. So it's my turn to help you." As she continued, men and women approached the table, dropping red badges on its surface and walking away again. "See, I have these friends. And all of them were the wrong sort of whatever. Their place changed, or it never was. So together we made an 'us'. Everyone needs an 'us'. And when the world is done saying no and calls you the wrong sort of whatever, maybe we can be that 'us' for you?" Sera was grinning widely as a young blonde woman with her hair pulled back in a tail and dressed all in black came to crouch beside her chair and scrutinize Philippa with narrowed brown eyes and a mischievous smirk. "What do you think, Inquisitor? Want to run some rooftops as a Jenny?"

Philippa was both honored and shocked. "I would have thought the Inquisitor might be a little more well known than your typical Jenny?" She looked at the crouching woman and smirked. "No offense."

"Some taken," she purred with a sardonic smile.

"Pfft," Sera waved it off. "Words. Look, we don't want you, we want to be there _for_ you. If you want to keep _doing_ , it won't be nobles who help. It'll be _friends_."

Philippa nodded excitedly. "Well, all I have to say is call me 'Red frigging Jenny'."

Sera snorted her approval as the blonde eyed her with her same smirk. "Way too confusing. You'll get a city. One that rhymes with 'arse'."

Sera nudged her and snorted again. "Oh! I should have said we needed 'a we' instead of 'an us', because... wait! Anus?" She laughed out loud and shook her head. "So stupid."

Philippa couldn't help her own laugh, picking up the drink in front of her and saying, "To all my friends."

"Always and ever, Philly. Always and ever," Sera agreed, slamming their mugs together before downing her drink.

She wasn't certain the Chargers would show, but when she spotted Krem pacing near the bar, she excused herself and Sera giggled, still downing drinks. She approached Bull's nervous looking lieutenant, wondering what was amiss. "Your Worship!" Krem grasped her hand and smiled in greeting. In spite of her practically begging him to not call her that, the nickname had stuck, likely more out of teasing than out of actual reverence. Bull had likely put him up to it. "I'm glad you're here." He pulled her to the side. "Listen, I need you to keep the Chief distracted while we sneak this dragon skull through the room behind him." He tipped his head toward a large skull just outside one of the side doors.

She nodded, certain Bull would love the skull. "Uh, sure. One distraction coming up."

"It's for his birthday," Krem told her as if she needed a reason to help.

"I had no idea," she said with a chuckle.

Krem's eyes widened. "All right, here he comes. Just keep him talking. He loves talking."

She snickered as Krem patted her arm and jogged toward the exit. She turned and caught sight of Bull moving fluidly through the small space with a huge grin on his face. "Hey Boss!" he knelt, wrapping his huge arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground in a bear hug. After, he set her down again and led her to a pair of stools by the bar. "Made time for a drink?"

After months of not seeing him, with the pressure of everything happening in the Inquisition and the added pressure to keep him occupied for Krem, her mind went blank. She sat, staring at him as his brow rose and grasped for the first topic that came to mind. "It's good to see that the Veil has largely healed, now that most of the major rifts are closed." When he simply stared at her, she rambled on. "You might think otherwise, but the Veil isn't technically a physical barrier. It's more like a magical vibration that repels the Fade."

"Hmm..." he hummed, glancing away from her and taking a sip from the drink that he had ordered with a finger after they sat.

She took up her own drink and swallowed a large gulp, shaking off the awkwardness. She flicked her eyes toward where Krem and the rest of the Chargers were still struggling with the skull. She opened her mouth in a few false starts before she buried her face in her hands and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, I can't do this..."

Bull nudged her and chuckled. "Sure you can! They must have that thing almost across the room by now, right?" She lifted her head and looked at him with her mouth agape. He grinned and whispered. "Ben-Hassrath, remember?"

"Surprise!" Krem shouted, him and the Chargers gathered around the skull. "Happy Birthday, Chief!"

Bull stood with a grunt and turned to look at them with an excited smile. "Oh, you guys! You got me!" he said convincingly before he turned to Philippa with a knowing wink.

Without Bull egging her on to grasp for ridiculous conversation, her nerves settled and they fell into their usual friendly conversation, catching each other up on the goings on in the last few months.

Reluctantly, she left the tavern to do her duty and find the other people she was meant to talk to. When she found Cassandra instead, the warrior startled much like she had when Philippa had caught her reading Varric's book. "Ahh!" she gasped before looking embarrassed.

"You haven't looked at me like that since you locked me up in Haven's dungeon. Is everything okay?" Philippa asked with a teasing lilt that she loved to use on Cassandra. It always got her all fired up.

"Yes!" she shifted her eyes. "Well, I... wanted to talk to you. And now you're here."

Philippa blinked, wondering why Cassandra was acting so shifty. “I could back up around the corner and let your prepare first, if you need me to.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. “Always with clever suggestions.” She shifted from one foot to the other, her silver plated formal armor winking in the sun. "Maybe you should sit."

Philippa shook her head warily. "I'm perfectly comfortable standing..."

Cassandra gaped for a moment before changing the suggestion. "Maybe _I_ should sit. She moved to settle herself on the edge of a stone bench along the wall where she had been pacing when Philippa approached. Philippa followed, sitting on the opposite side of the bench. "Phil, I want you to know that I am your friend. I will always be your friend."

"Oh," Philippa began. "Well, that's..."

"So I hope to give you sound advice on this momentous day." Cassandra barreled forward, not allowing Philippa to finish her thought. She was smiling now, which calmed the nervous flutter in Philippa's chest. "Do what is in your heart, my friend. No matter what anyone might tell you." She reached out and took Philippa's hand reassuringly.

Philippa frowned and then chuckled. “Did I miss the first half of this conversation? What are you on about?” she chuckled.

Cassandra sighed in exasperation. “I'm talking about marriage!”

“Wait, what?!” Philippa gasped, her eyes widening. The idea hit her like a druffalo. She and Cullen had absolutely tried to start a family, but marriage had never come into the equation. Cassandra putting it out there made Philippa's palms sweat. Were they ready?

Cassandra balked. “Cullen is not hard on the eyes, I'll give him that... but if you truly intend to...” With the look of pure shock on Philippa's face, Cassandra stopped mid sentence and frowned. "You're not proposing. To anyone." She stood and growled, balling her fists. "I am going to kill Varric. Why do I believe everything he says? _Why_?"

Philippa chuckled, calming her racing heart. "He said I was going to propose?"

Cassandra dropped her angered stance and scratched at her head. "He... mentioned a proposal. I suppose I filled in the blanks. Or he did this on purpose. That dwarf gets entirely too much joy from my discomfort."

Philippa couldn't help but snigger again as she stood as well. "You're adorable."

Cassandra turned and laughed. "There are far worse things to be." Then she sighed still smiling. "Being Inquisitor has brought you good things. Many good things. But only a few have been by your choice. Take what happiness you can from those, and do not let them go. That is all I meant to say. Advice from a friend, for the days to come."

They shared a hug and then Cassandra let her go. She wandered the gardens in search of some of the others. Blackwall, now going by Thom Ranier and a full fledged Warden, spoke to her briefly about his new life. As she left the area with the tavern, she expected to find the ambassadors, as well as Leliana huddled in the swankier side of the grounds. What she did not expect was Cullen kneeling in front of a Mabari hound. “You there! You're to dodge, not catch! If that ball were a fireball, you'd be dead.”

She smiled, crossing her arms under her chest as she watched him. The man she loved who had come so far in the years she had known him. He rarely even flinched when he was exposed to Lyrium anymore, and his nights had become much less restless. The hound barked playfully, nudging its nose into his shoulder. The dog was as tall as he was when he was crouching, a giant dark gray beast. Cullen noticed her as she approached quietly and his expression turned sheepish. “Have you adopted us a dog?” she asked glancing around for the hound's owner, not truly expecting to find one.

“They don't breed Mabari in Orlais,” he explained, his voice quiet as he began to scratch the dog's ears. “The merchant said he was abandoned. Perhaps his owner's tired of the novelty?”

“Who would ever get tired of such a handsome boy?” she asked, fake pouting as she moved to pet the dog. “With that wagging butt and fetching ability?” The dog barked happily at her attention.

Cullen snorted. “He's not supposed to fetch it...”

“I don't think you understand how this works,” she teased and the dog bumped into her legs in an effort to gain more head scratches.

“Another Ferelden trapped at the Winter Palace,” Cullen sighed. “I couldn't leave him to that fate. Besides... I think he likes me.” The dog woofed and bounded back over to Cullen to drop down and roll onto his back for belly rubs.

“Azure is going to be thrilled to have a friend. Although it's surprising that _my_ Cullen Rutherford would find _anyone_ to be friends with at a political council... Or are you a demon? How times have changed,” she teased with a wide grin. Seeing him so content made her heart flutter. Happiness was where Cullen shone brightest, as much as he would try and make everyone believe it was in the training ring.

He chuckled sweetly. “So they have...” His smile faded and he glanced down at the happily rolling hound. He sighed. “The Inquisition will change after this. I'm not yet sure what that will mean. Still, I've found certainty in my life now. The council won't change that.” He stopped scratching the dog and they both stood. His lopsided grin lifted his lips and he caught her off guard as the sun made a beautiful halo around his head and shoulders. As she sucked in a breath, he said shortly. “Marry me.”

The dog barked and her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes widened as her heart came back to life and began racing. “What?” she asked dumbly, wondering if she had heard right in her stupor. Perhaps Cass hadn't been far off.

Cullen's right hand shot up to his neck in his old nervous habit and he looked adorable as he stuttered, his cheeks flushing. “I mean, will you...” he sighed. “I had a plan, and... and there wasn't a dog. But you were... It doesn't matter.” He paused and she managed to bring her weak knees back to life so she could approach him. “I've thought of little else, and I don't need a plan. Only to know if you would...”

She grinned uncontrollably. “Maker's breath, yes! Of course I will!” she agreed excitedly, her hands trembling in excitement. She hadn't realized how much she wanted this until she was standing there saying yes.

“You will,” he said with a relieved sigh.

They were careful not to make a scene in the public garden, although the dog barked wildly and bounded around them, picking up on their excitement. “We are in the middle of the gardens at the Winter Palace. Us getting married is _not_ going to go unnoticed,” Philippa pointed out.

“It won't go over well, but we know a few people who can keep things... secret,” he said, his own smile matching hers.

"What made you ask now? After all this time?" she asked him gently.

He chuckled softly. "I've been thinking about it since South Reach. The perfect time seemed to never come. Every time I got up the nerve, something came up. I definitely wasn't planning on doing this here, but seeing you standing there, just now, it felt right."

Suddenly, she frowned, her stomach flipping. She hugged herself. "I can't right now... I've already spent so much time idling in the tavern. I need to find Leliana and..."

He cut her off, his hands landing on her upper arms in a seemingly friendly gesture, his smile reassuring. "It's all right, Phil. I understand duty. Give me a few hours to make preparations while you talk with the nobles. Josephine told me about what she's planning tonight. Meet me in the gardens afterwards?" Then he took her hand in his so he could swiftly slip a small sapphire ring on her finger.

After admiring the heart shaped gem, she smiled up at him. "Midnight in the gardens... will there be chess?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Go mingle, you heathen."

When she left him, she straightened her bright red dress uniform and shakily proceeded to hunt down the people who she should have been tending to instead of her rowdy inner circle. In her quest to find the Orlesian ambassador, she found not only him, but Dorian. Her friend was scowling at the ambassador as the man tried to win his favor. “Orlais is on your side, Lord Pavus. The Inquisition's support is not a thing to lose lightly.”

“Which is why the Orlesian court is circling it with a net and collar?” He snipped, his elegantly armored arms crossing over his chest. Maker, she had missed his voice. Dorian looked over the man and spotted her approaching. He uncrossed his arms and moved past the ambassador. “But you'll have to excuse me! I see an old friend I must greet.” His eyes lifted to shimmer at her as he held out his arms. “Phil, darling! How long has it been? Don't actually tell me, I despise feeling old...” He wrapped her in his familiar embrace, scented with woodsmoke and parchment and kissed her cheek. "It's good to see you, my friend."

She pulled back smiling widely as his grey eyes sparkled with excitement. “You look all atingle to be back in the Winter Palace, _Lord_ Pavus,” she teased, backing up to hold him at arms length, her fingers clutching his elbows.

“Oh, riveted,” he said sarcastically as he looked her over. “Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, the Chantry meddles, and Tevinter sends but one ambassador. That's me, by the way. A 'reward for my interest in the South'. Thankfully 'Ambassador Pavus' is a token appointment. Call on me as you like.” He winked and gently kissed her cheek before squeezing her hands and leaving her to the Orlesian Ambassador.

He was wearing formal armor very similar to the set that Gaspard had worn to the Grand Masquerade. His mask depicted simple eyeholes, the bottom lids raised up to make it look like it was smiling. Beneath the segmented and pointed nose, a brass mustache stuck out wide to both sides. The entire mask was mounted to a helm with a large red feather on the top. The Duke bowed low. "Inquisitor, Duke Cyril Montfort, member of the Council of Heralds and Lord of Chateau Haine. I have long followed your work. It is extraordinary."

She fought the urge to snort with derision. "Extraordinary, is it? It's so good that Celene wishes us under her spiked heels?" she asked carefully.

He laughed lightly, his voice like a bell. "Of course! Orlais wishes only to offer respectful guidance to the Inquisition."

"And what is _your_ opinion on the matter, Your Grace?" she wondered cheekily as she crossed her arms.

He pursed his lips. "I would rather see the Inquisition join us freely than be carved into pieces for the chessboard." Philippa hid her smile behind pursed lips as the thought of chess brought her plans for the evening to mind. "I have not forgotten Justinia's death. I had friends who perished at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. More than the good you have done, it is the good we may do together I don't wish to lose. Whatever happens, Inquisitor, I wish you well."

He bowed out of the conversation and on the opposite side of the balconies where they stood, she saw Leliana in her ridiculous Chantry robes, talking with a man that Philippa realized must be the Arl of Redcliffe, Teagan Guerrin. He had a large hooked nose, and features that spoke of a once handsome man that the years had not been kind to. He wore a typical Ferelden tunic topped with a striped hauberk tucked in a belt. The hat on his head was also typically Ferelden.

Philippa stepped up politely, her hands clasped behind her back where she fiddled with her ring. It would take a lot of getting used to. She was never one for rings, the intricate movements of her fingers while casting made for difficulty wearing jewelry, but for Cullen, she made the exception. One ring was not going to make a difference. She often wondered how Dorian did it with the shiny baubles that he wore on mostly all of his fingers. “Divine Victoria, am I interrupting?”

Leliana turned a bright smile on Philippa, her eyes flicking curiously over her person. Philippa was suddenly glad her hands were behind her back. Leliana would have spotted the ring in seconds. It was best that not happen in front of the Arl. “Of course not, Inquisitor. I was catching up with Redcliffe's Arl. He is here to represent Ferelden in the Summit.”

“Inquisitor. Good to meet you,” the Arl said with a short tip of his head coupled with a scowl that he quickly tried to hide. His face was weathered and dry, making her think that he had seen a lot in his time, and knowing the things that had happened in Redcliffe during the Blight, and then with Alexius, she was not surprised he led a stressful life.

“How are things in Redcliffe, my lord?” Philippa asked, her own bow equally short.

“Blessedly quiet. The mayor conveys his greetings. Redcliffe remembers it's savior,” he said.

Philippa nodded. “I was hoping to borrow a moment with her Most Holiness...” she said, glancing back at Leliana with a teasing smirk.

“Very well. We'll continue this later, Your Perfection,” Teagan bowed low to Leliana and left them alone.

Leliana smiled widely and put both hands on Philippa's shoulders. She pulled her inwards to kiss both her cheeks in a traditional Orlesian greeting between old friends. After looking her over again, Leliana sighed. “Many fear the Inquisition's power, but I will do all I can to allay their fears.”

Philippa snorted, crossing her arms. She regretted it immediately when Leliana's eyes flicked to her hands and a devious grin crossed her features. Philippa attempted to pretend she hadn't noticed. “When world powers want to 'discuss plans for the future', I get nervous.”

“Good. Someone should keep you on your toes. We don't want you to get bored, Inquisitor,” Leliana said with a smirk. “I have much to do, but let me say this, I may no longer be your spymaster, but I am always here if you require.” Philippa bowed to Leliana with a smile and the former spymaster winked at her slyly as she walked away.

The Arl jumped at the opportunity as soon as she was alone. “I'm glad you've finally arrived, Inquisitor. The crown's anxious for news.”

“What is your personal opinion on the matter?” Philippa asked, already knowing the answer from the glare he had fixated on her and from Josephine's reports, but she wished to hear it from the horse's mouth.

“The Breach is long gone, yet Skyhold's army remains. Ferelden can't continue to ignore soldiers on it's borders,” he grumbled, predictably.

Philippa took in a deep breath and remained as politically adept as she could. “The Inquisition _has_ grown, though you must understand, most of the new bodies are coming to Skyhold to attend the Academy, not to join the army. I can see where your insecurities might lie, but I feel they are unfounded.”

He responded as if she had said nothing beyond 'The Inquisition has grown'. “Then you understand why we must demand a reduction of your military forces. A power without allegiance to either Ferelden or Orlais? Even I see neither of our countries can let it rest...” Philippa felt her own scowl forming and the Arl must have noticed it, even with her mask in place. She licked her lips in an attempt to reshape them from their pursed position. “I won't keep you longer. We'll have words enough when the Exalted Council begins.”

There was not even a bow before he walked off, not that she felt she deserved it. But she had grown accustomed to it happening everywhere she went. She trudged off the balcony and headed back toward the tavern area where the company was certainly more lively. She never made it that far when just outside the garden spa, she spotted a group of her friends gathered. She approached to see what all the fuss was about. Sera sat on a cushioned bench, a cup in her hands. Varric was standing in the middle of the others, his glass slightly raised. Cole stood to the rear staring quizzically into his own cup. Bull was passed out near Sera's bench and Dorian stood looking rather put out near the bench opposite Sera's.

“As the most eloquent dwarf you know, Sparkles...” Varric said loudly.

Sera interrupted, raising her cup and slurring, “Speech! Speech! Way too much speech...” then she downed her drink, sneering.

“Varric, there's really no need...” Dorian said hastily as he saw her approaching.

“You all look suspicious. Did I miss something?” Philippa asked with a smirk, taking a cup from Sera and sniffing it before setting the strong drink aside, the scent making her dizzy. As much as she might like to join them, she needed to keep a clear head, and she was already getting a headache from whatever the Anchor was doing.

“Inquisitor! You're just in time!” Varric exclaimed, then he returned his attention to Dorian. “Sparkles. The Imperium doesn't deserve you. Or want you. It may even kill you, but _we'll_ miss you... If it counts.” Philippa glanced in shock at Dorian who apologized with his eyes before turning a scowl in Varric and bristling. “Aaaaand you didn't know. Okay folks, time to take the party elsewhere.” The others left without a word, glancing awkwardly between Dorian and Philippa. Varric made to leave then noticed Bull was still passed out by the bench, muttering and snoring. At a loss, he waved his hand “Err, leave him.”

When Varric disappeared from the courtyard, Dorian sighed, setting his cup on the short table between the benches and moved away from her, his back to her as he shuffled his feet. Was he truly leaving again? He had just gotten back.”It's... true,” he said with a sigh as she approached. “When the Exalted Council has ended, I'm going back to Tevinter...” he turned on her, his eyes glistening. “For good this time.”

“What will I do without you? I'll be lost without my favorite Altus,” she said breathing in a ragged breath and trying not to cry, her emotions suddenly high. He'd said 'for good'.

“Naturally,” he sniffed, brushing his own cheeks. Her lip quivered and she bit back her sob, as he continued. “My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe. I received notice this morning. A perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium... We only met a few times while I was home. He didn't say anything about keeping me as his heir. This 'ambassadorship'... his doing, I'm told. He must have wanted me away when the trouble began. I _have_ to go back.”

Philippa frowned slightly and crossed her arms, holding back the tears. "I'm sure Bull is thrilled about this..."

"He _wants_ to come with me," Dorian admitted with a sigh. "It can't happen, of course. A Qunari cannot simply walk around the Imperium, even in a Magister's company. I don't want him hurt. He doesn't want me hurt. We're working it out."

Philippa didn't know what to say as a couple of tears dripped down her cheeks. “I know it was complicated, but... I'm sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, brushing her tears away before hugging her gently. “It still doesn't feel real.”

She comforted him with her arms for a minute before pulling away and drawing in a breath. “So, you graduated from an Altus to a straight up Magister?”

He snorted and crossed his arms again. “Oh, yes. I can't wait to degrade the Magisterium with my presence! A new outfit is required.”

“And after soiling the Senate floor...?” she asked with a short chuckle.

He shrugged. “I find my father's killers and kill them back. Then I find those giving Tevinter a bad name and kill them. They're most likely the same people, so that should make the job easier.”

“Would you like some back up? I've never been to Tevinter...” she said without a second thought. Him against Tevinter all alone terrified her.

He shook his head and smiled grimly. “Not this time, my friend... I won't be entirely without support. Maevaris has gathered other Magisters who feel as we do.” She remembered him mentioning Maevaris on occasion. She was apparently a very powerful mage and a good friend, in spite of his insistence that Philippa was his only friend. “We'll be an actual faction in the Magisterium. I'll teach them manners, take them shopping, It'll be fun!”

“Don't go back... You had put everything behind you before. You don't have to pursue this,” she pleaded one last time, grabbing hold of his hands.

He clucked his tongue. “Give up a golden opportunity for martyrdom? Perish the thought!” She felt the color drain from her face at his joke. It must have been visible because he gripped her hands tighter and moved to sit her on one of the benches and he joined her, their knees touching. “Are you quite all right, Phil?”

She nodded, breathing deeply. “It's okay... yeah... just...” she pinched the bridge of her nose with her left hand. “A little emotional.”

He huffed. “Emotional? Over little old me?”

She snorted, brushing the dregs of her tears away as his hand caught hers and he studied her ring with a fascinated smirk. “Hardly,” she grunted, pulling her hand away.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked devilishly. “Did our dear Commander finally pop the question?”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, flapping her hand at him.

“Well, should I be offended? Why was I not informed immediately?” he gasped, pulling her into a hug. “I would have made a lovely maid of honor.”

She laughed out loud. “Well, technically, it's not official yet. Cullen is quietly making arrangements to do it in the gardens tonight. You're the first to know, unless you count Leliana who picked up on my ring as well."

“Well, now you need to take Vivienne up on her offer,” Dorian said, his head jerking toward the spa. "Get gussied up."

“Offer?” she asked with a frown of her own. “Vivienne is here?”

“She was looking for you a few minutes ago,” he confirmed. “Something about an appointment. Naturally she was not very forthcoming to me.”

“Of course,” Philippa said, her eyes rolling.

Dorian pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “Congratulations... now, go. I won't keep you. We can talk later.”

She stood up, feeling relieved that at least someone knew. The weight of the secret didn't feel so heavy. She found Vivienne standing amidst the many fountains in the bathhouse and fanning herself with a paper fan. “Darling, you made it! Excellent! I scheduled this appointment ages ago and they do appreciate punctuality.”

 _Hello to you too, Vivienne._ “Appointment?” Philippa asked, wrinkling her nose at all the offensively strong perfume scents inside the spa.

“With the Imperial Garden Spa, of course!” Vivienne said, draping herself across an unnaturally wide couch and indicating that Philippa be seated across from her. “You work so hard, my dear! I wanted to treat you.”

Philippa glanced around awkwardly. "I've never been to a spa a day in my life, Vivienne," she said, sitting awkwardly on the large couch and raising a brow as one of the workers held out two small cheese wheels in her palm.

Vivienne arched a brow at Philippa beneath her hennin. "Darling, that is precisely why you so desperately need this appointment." With that, Vivienne turned to lounge back in the seat and a pair of attendants approached them both, offering the tiny cheese wheels, again, that they explained went over her eyes.

Half an hour later, Philippa had been stuffed into a one piece body suit whose legs reached her mid thigh and had no sleeves. Her nails on both her hands and feet had been cleaned, filed and polished. She'd been massaged quite thoroughly, the attendants having tutted over her numerous scars, and was admittedly more relaxed as she laid on her back with cheese wheels over her eyes. “I have to ask. What are the cheese wheels for?”

Vivienne huffed. “It pains me that you even have to ask. You've clearly been living too long in barely civilized conditions.”

There was a clatter in the next room, followed by giggling. “What in the Maker's name was that?” Philippa asked.

“Relax, darling. It's spa day,” Vivienne insisted. “How have you been? It seems ages since we've spoken. How are things with our dear Commander Cullen?”

Philippa smiled, but Vivienne was unworthy of her secrets, so she said, “We couldn't be happier.”

“It's such a comfort to hear that at least _one_ facet of your life hasn't fallen apart due to incompetence,” Vivienne said sorrowfully.

“ _You_ must be keeping very busy,” Philippa pointed out, sorely wanting to rub the success of the Academy in Vivienne's face, but taking the high road instead. Vivienne was well aware of how poorly her own Circle was doing.

“Someone has to keep the mess that's been made of Thedas' institutions of magic from flying apart,” she said with a sigh. Philippa felt a hand on her arm and she removed her cheese wheel to see who it was. Apparently, their time was up. Vivienne sat up across from her and stretched. “Don't you feel better, my dear? This place really does work miracles.”

Philippa glanced around as she stood and noticed several cord wrapped hams and a stick with a banana tied to it's tip strewn across the floor. A few of the workers were attempting to clean up the mess. “What... happened?” It had to have been Sera. Philippa thought she recognized that giggle.

“Darling, it's spa day. Don't fret. You'll undo all the good they've done. Come along, Inquisitor. They have other appointments, you know...” Vivienne ushered her into the changing rooms and Philippa changed her clothes.

When she left the spa, the sun was dipping lower. Before she got far, Dorian ushered her back to him. “You look fabulous. I forgot to give you this earlier. A present. A going away present.” he handed her a small box. When she lifted the lid, she saw a small locket already propped open. Inside was a small crystal, barely larger than her thumbnail. She lifted it from the box and it hummed with magic at her touch. The crystal was beautiful. Dorian took it from her hands and clasped it around her neck. “It's a sending crystal. Amazing what friendship with the Inquisition gives you access to. If I get in over my head, or you're overwhelmed with sorrow for lack of my velvety voice... magic!” She looked up at him and he was smiling sweetly at her. “What? You didn't think I would just leave and you'd never hear from me again, did you?” At the look on her face he hugged her close. “You are my _dearest_ friend. Perhaps my only friend. That will never change, no matter where we are.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Thank you, Dorian. It's beautiful... and exactly what I needed,” she said with a smile as she clutched the crystal with her hand.

“I almost forgot it in all the distraction,” he said with a grin. “Now go and find your fiance.” he shooed her.


	50. More Exciting Than Anticipated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A perfect night is followed by troubling news and a bitter start to the Exalted Council.

Philippa's jaw hung to the ground as fire erupted on the stage below her. Lithe and limber dancers pranced about, telling a story with their bodies and their masks. One that Philippa was admittedly unable to follow. The spectacle was like nothing she had ever seen. Her heart was racing as the light's dimmed and several of the dancers lunged toward each other, reenacting a battle of some sort. She thought... She watched in anticipation, her hands wringing around her playbill as she sat on the edge of her seat, peering over the balcony. Then, all of a sudden it stopped. Everything went still and the audience cheered. Philippa gaped, listening to Josephine shouting “Bravo! Bravo!” to her left. She glanced at her ambassador.

Josephine looked over at her and recognized her expression. Philippa began to stutter out her questions. “Was the woman in gold playing a King? Who was the man in feathers?”

Josie chuckled softly and patted Philippa's hand that was now gripping the arm of her seat with intensity. “Oh, It's all very simple! The first actor's mask is determined by...” Josie pressed her lips together as Philippa gaped, eager to learn. It must have been more complicated than she indicated because she cleared her throat and sighed. “Well, I will lend you the program guide... But tell me, did you enjoy the performance?”

“That was...” Philippa paused, searching for the right words as Josephine took on a look of horror at the thought that she may have bored Philippa. “Absolutely fantastic! I've never seen anything so amazing!” Philippa cried.

“Truly?” Josephine asked with a wide smile.

Philippa sucked in a breath. “That part with the glittery... and they actually set fire to...” She exhaled passionately and then chuckled with glee. “Yes, I had a blast, Josie!”

“Then I call tonight a great success!” Josie announced with pride. Suddenly, the theater went dark and fireworks sprung from the stage to explode on the high ceiling. “Oh, look! the encore signal!”

Philippa's head whipped around and the rest of the show was brief but intense. When she and Josie walked out of the theater, Philippa yawned and stretched, feigning exhaustion so she could slip away to the gardens and meet Cullen. Josie walked with her briefly, but soon veered off to head to her assigned room.

She walked alone, smiling excitedly. A rustling in the bushes to her left drew her attention and there was a fireball in her right palm before she could think. “Is someone there?” she called out. There was no response, not as though she had been expecting one. Assassins didn't usually answer when their target called out to them.

“Are you all right?” Philippa shrieked at the sudden voice to her left and she spun, ready to release her magic. When she saw Cole standing with his hands behind his back and his head cocked to stare at her, she slumped her shoulders and sighed.

“Maker's breath, Cole. Don't sneak up on me like that.” She closed her fist around the magic burning in her palm and placed the hand over her racing heart. “You'll give me a heart attack.”

“Your heart won't attack you. It's happy,” Cole said with a grin.

She chuckled. “I suppose you're right. What are you doing out here... lurking?”

“I'm not lurking. Maryden likes flowers and shiny stones. I was looking for stones,” he said with a shrug. “But none of the stones around here are right. They don't sing.”

“Okay, well, good luck,” she said. “I'm going to bed.”

“He's waiting for you,” Cole offered.

Of course Cole knew. She rolled her eyes and turned from him. “Thank you, Cole. Goodnight,” she called over her shoulder as she continued down the garden path. A few minutes later, she was past the courtyard and almost to the spa when her hand exploded in agony, lurching her forward as the night lit up green as the anchor flared. She gritted her teeth, grabbing her wayward arm with her right hand and pulling it back to her chest. Tendrils of stabbing pain lanced up her arm and into her jaw, like thousands of hot needles piercing her skin. Then as quickly as it had come, it stopped. She took a moment to catch her breath as she stared at the now calm Anchor. Philippa grunted, shaking off the residual tingle in her hand.

Before she could wonder what had just happened, Cullen stepped around one of the bushes that made up the edge of the garden. Seeing her, he smiled. "I thought I heard someone." She dropped her hands, ignoring the strange flare up of the Anchor and returned the smile. He approached her and placed his hand on the small of her back. "I managed to get you something to wear, and Mother Giselle agreed to lead the ceremony."

"Aren't we supposed to have witnesses?" she asked curiously.

He pulled her closer, his arm snaking around her waist. "Have I ever told you that Varric knows more than he possibly should?"

"All of the time," she chuckled. "What's he done now?"

They rounded the corner to where the small archway stood that was regularly used for weddings. Standing around, dressed in formal wear like they had expected Cullen's proposal were her siblings. "Apparently, he's been expecting me to ask you to marry me, and guessed it would happen here."

"Maker's tears!" Philippa gasped, her heart leaping. She rushed from Cullen's side and Bethany threw herself at Philippa with a giddy chuckle. "I've missed you all so much!"

Garrett waited his turn, grabbing her and lifting her off her feet like Bull had in one of his famous bear hugs. "Did you honestly think I'd miss this?"

When he set her down, Carver awkwardly approached, his hands stiffly at his sides. "Congratulations, sister."

Philippa snorted and nudged him before giving him her own version of Garrett's bear hug. Carver stiffened slightly, but allowed her to hug him for a moment before Garrett punched his arm and he flinched before wrapping his own arms around her. "Believe it or not, you're not the first person I've known who hates hugs. Like I told him, just let it happen, Carver."

Bethany took hold of her arm and Philippa noticed she had a white dress draped over her arm. "Let's get you changed while the boys finish up here."

They linked arms and started toward the changing rooms in the spa. "I can't believe you're here, Beth!"

"Did you think I would miss your wedding?" Bethany scolded.

Philippa snorted. "Considering I had no idea it was even happening until earlier today, I thought everyone was going to miss it."

Her sister chuckled sweetly. Her black hair, longer since Philippa had seen her last, was braided loosely and draped over her shoulder, a flower tucked behind her right ear. She had lined her eyes in a light dusting of shadow that matched the pink and purple dress she was wearing. The dress had thin straps over her shoulders that served only to keep the dress from falling down. Her shoulders and neck were otherwise bare. The sleeves were long, flowing and sheer, the dress itself silky and tasteful as she framed her ample chest without showing it off. "Well, you know Varric. If you even think too hard about something, he knows about it."

"I should be upset that our secret wedding isn't secret, but if it got you three here, I really can't be mad," Philippa shrugged. Bethany handed over the dress she had been carefully carrying and Philippa stepped behind the changing screen. "Dare I ask about your love life? How's Nathaniel?"

Bethany chuckled again, that same sweet humming melody. "We've been to visit his sister and her family a few times, and Garrett and Anders keep begging us to come around, but we're so busy most of the time, we rarely have time to stop and take a breath. With the damage the Warden ranks took during the war, it's been non stop recruiting with not much to show for it."

"Well, I won't beg, but if you are ever passing through, Skyhold is always open. We'd be glad to see you, and you could meet Azure," Philippa suggested as she slipped out of her dress uniform and into the dress. It was floor length, and silky, just like Bethany's, but the outer chiffon layer was inlaid with shimmering flecks of silvery glitter that gave the illusion of undisturbed snow glistening in the sun. It's sleeves were made of the same flowing fabric, and where the silk was sewn in at the back just above her shoulder blades, another layer of thin fabric hung like a mantle, trailing behind her.

She stepped out from behind the screen and Bethany gasped. "Well, now all that's left is make-up and accessories. Though you scarcely need them. Phil, you're gorgeous..."

About an hour later, she was properly attired in the flowing white dress and they were tucked away in a small, private corner of the gardens with Mother Giselle presiding. They stood facing each other, Bethany, Carver and Garrett standing in a semicircle nearby. Cullen picked up her hands and held them tightly. “Just now... everything feels like it was worth fighting for,” he whispered.

She couldn't help her laughter. “Don't be so sober... We're getting married...” she lifted her marked hand to tip his eyes to hers. “Here and now, Cullen...” she reminded him.

“This is...” he seemed at a loss for words as he looked her over in the long white dress. She remembered back to the last time they had been to the Winter Palace and she had worn an actual dress. So much had happened since then, but the look in his eyes was the same.

Mother Giselle cleared her throat with a grin. “This is the part where _you_ make a promise.”

“Oh, right,” Cullen said and then cleared his throat and returned his attention to Philippa's face. “I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

Philippa repeated the vow and Mother Giselle pronounced her an official Rutherford. Cullen pulled her close and they shared a loving kiss as Mother Giselle politely left them. “I love you,” Philippa said, her forehead pressed to his.

“And I you...” Then he sighed as Garrett approached and gripped them both up in a hug.

"It's so good we've got a new Hawke in the family," he said jokingly, kissing Cullen's cheek.

Cullen recoiled and Philippa laughed. "That's not how it works..."

"As far as he knows," Garrett hugged Cullen tighter. "But it's the rules. If you marry into the Hawke family, you're a Hawke..."

Philippa shoved him away playfully. "I'm sure Anders was thrilled to finally have a surname..."

Garrett released them and grinned deviously. "He'd much rather scream it out in bed than take it for his own..."

"Andraste preserve me," Cullen mumbled as Bethany reached over and slapped Garrett's upper arm.

Garrett clapped his hands together. "Right! Speaking of screaming out in bed, you're newly weds and we're lingering. Come on Carver, Beth... the tavern is still open."

With one last hug for each of her siblings, they watched the three of them leave and Cullen took her hand lightly. "You look beautiful in that dress."

She turned into his arms, glad for a moment alone. "But I'm sure I'd look much better out of it."

He leaned down to kiss her, the smile on his lips making the act difficult. "You read my mind, Lady Rutherford."

She lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck. "That's Comtesse Rutherford, I'll have you know."

He snorted. "Should I even ask?"

"As Viscount, Varric has abused his title to make me nobility in Kirkwall. By proxy, you are now nobility in Kirkwall," she said with a chuckle.

"Maker forbid," He chucked as well.

"So which of us do you think got the nicer room in the palace?" she wondered as they started toward the guest wing.

"Perhaps we should check them both... Just to be sure," he said with a devious grin.

She hummed out another chuckle. "A few hours in each at least to properly test," she agreed.

Cullen led her to his room first. Just inside his grey mabari sat on his haunches, his head tipped to the side with a bouquet of crystal grace in his mouth. She gushed as she stepped in and knelt before the excited dog. "Are those for me?" He dropped the bouquet into her hands and tried to lick her face. She giggled and evaded the slobber. "Thank you, good sir." He barked once and Cullen shushed him. With his tongue lolling, he moved to the other side of the room where a few pillows had been piled. He turned round a few times and laid down, yawning. She turned to Cullen and smiled. "They're beautiful. Have you given him a name or did he come with one?"

Cullen snorted, moving up to pull her against him. He reached up and brushed her bangs from her face. "If he came with one, the merchant didn't know it. It seems whoever owned him before taught him one thing. Fetch."

The dog lifted his head momentarily, but when he realized there was nothing for him to chase after, he settled back down. She sniggered. "Perhaps you should name him Gopher."

He grinned, leaning in closer. "I was right. Mages are evil."

She lifted onto her toes and captured his lips, abandoning the bouquet to a nearby table. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, her body melting into his embrace. Then his hands moved to the back of her dress where a long ribbon beneath the mantle held it closed. As he undid the tie, she set her sights on his belt and the formal tunic and coat he was wearing. The dress quickly fell from her shoulders, falling to pool at her feet. Cullen's hands followed the fabric down her back and around her waist before he guided her backwards toward the bed, their mouths still connected. Then he bent, his arms wrapping around her thighs so he could lift her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed, then she straddled his hips. Their hands were everywhere, touching each other like it was their first time. She reached between them, liberating him from the loosened breeches he still wore. Then she slipped from his lap, tugging them off completely and dropping to her knees. She caressed her hands up his now bare thighs, trickling tiny sparks of electricity from her fingertips as she moved toward his erection. A gasp escaped him and he whispered, "Maker's breath."

She switched the magic to fire, warming her hands before she took his balls in one and his shaft in the other. Then as she looked up at him, she slipped him into her mouth, slowly taking him in until her lips met her hand. She squeezed lightly with her hands, and then began to slowly work up and down, maintaining a pace she knew would drive him to the brink but never quite over the top. She meant this night to last for them both. Just when she began to taste the mild saltiness that told her he was close, she ever so slowly pulled her mouth from him. When she removed her hands, she slid them up his chest as she stood and then pushed him onto his back. He shifted further toward the middle of the bed as she climbed onto the mattress and straddled him once more, teasingly higher up than would do either of them any good. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "So, Commander... Do you have orders for me?"

His hands found her hips and he squeezed briefly before lifting her and physically positioning her so when she settled back down he could easily slip in. "Sit," he said with a grin.

She complied, slowly, his hands still guiding her until he met her cervix. She felt the moan of pleasure escape her mouth and her hips began to circle. Her palms rested on his stomach, steadying herself as they moved together. As deep as he was, she could feel him in her navel, each roll of her hips grinding him along her core. When his fingers slipped between them and found her clitoris, she gasped in ecstasy, releasing more magic along his skin. She felt the electricity as well, pushing her to the brink. "Oh, Maker," she cried, her head dipping. His free hand reached up and grasped her breast, squeezing almost painfully until suddenly, she slipped over the edge. She rode out her orgasm with a series of pleasured gasps. He pulled his fingers from between them and then pulled her down to him. With one arm wrapped around her, he flipped them before leaning down and capturing her lips again, stifling her moans. She lifted her arms, and slipped her fingers into his curls, grabbing tightly as they kissed hungrily. He began to move again, lighting up her senses as he caressed over and over her still sensitive core.

Her legs tightened around him as he too reached completion, the pulsing of his orgasm pushing her over the edge a second time. His head drooped and he nestled his face in her neck. "I love you," he whispered before laying a soft kiss on her neck, followed by a few more that led him back to her mouth.

He gingerly pulled free of her and moved to his side, lying next to her as she remained on her back, sweating and trying to catch her breath. "That is one templar smite I always enjoy being on the receiving end of," she said with a chuckle.

"You are insufferable," he grunted, leaning in to kiss her neck again.

"I thought that was why you married me," she reminded him.

He chuckled softly, pulling her closer and tracing his fingers over her skin. "It still sounds strange to hear you say that, but in a good way."

"I'm sure you'll soon tire of it, because I plan on rubbing it in everyone's faces. Her Lady Inquisitor-Comtesse Philippa Rutherford. It has a ring, don't you think?" she said, adding a poncy accent to her speech. "The Orlesians will be furious."

To cover up the laughter, he said, "Sweet Maker, shut up." Then he kissed her again.

They made love once more in his room and then slipping into the bare minimum of clothing they snuck to her room. "I knew it," she said when they stepped inside. "I got the better room. Suck on that, Commander."

He turned her in his arms after walking into her when she had stopped just inside the doorway. "Well, Lady Inquisitor-Comtesse Rutherford, there is something else I would rather be sucking on."

She lifted her arms to rest her forearms on his shoulders. "Oh? Is that right?"

He picked her up and tossed her on the bed, climbing on top of her and pushing the tunic she had thrown on up so his mouth could explore her stomach. Then he moved to her breasts, taking them in his mouth one at a time. All coherent thought left her as he moved downwards, pleasuring her with his mouth just as she had him, denying her that final pleasure until they had some mutual fun.

It had been a wedding night to remember, filled with laughter, moaning and happiness. When Philippa woke in the morning, her back huddled up against Cullen's chest, she felt like she had gotten hardly any sleep at all. Wishing she didn't need to get up and get dressed for the council, she groaned into her pillow before attempting to shift away from Cullen. He mumbled a negative sound, pulling her closer and kissing the back of her neck. She rolled into him, shifting so she was facing him. He smiled at her sleepily. "Good morning."

She reached up with her hand to brush his stray hair from his face, concentrating on nothing but him. Out of nowhere, his eyes widened and he grabbed hold of her wrist. "Ow, Cullen... what...?" That was when she saw it as pain lanced up her arm.

All around the glowing mark, tendrils of magic had begun to trail along beneath her skin, like the Anchor was spreading throughout her veins. The sight made her queasy, and she quickly pulled her hand from his grasp to study the anchor, sitting up and allowing the sheets to pool around her waist. Cullen sat up as well. "What's going on with the mark?" he asked haltingly.

"I... I don't know..." she confessed. Her fingers tingled with pins and needles like when circulation was being restored to a sleeping limb. Fear and nausea welled up in her gut, but she swallowed it and put on a brave face. "I'll look into it when the council concludes today."

"Hang the Council, Phil," he growled. "This looks bad."

She stood from the bed and hunted down her clothes, shaking her head. "You know I can't do that, Cullen. This is the future of the Inquisition... our future on the line, here." The Inquisition was doomed if the Inquisitor decided to skip the first day of the Exalted Council because she wasn't feeling up to presenting herself.

He stood as well, pulling on the trousers he had worn from his room to hers and stopped her in her tracks. "What future is there if that mark poisons you?" he asked, standing in her way.

"It wouldn't be the first time the Anchor's tried to kill me, Cullen. I'll be fine." Stepping around him, she did the best she could to prepare herself as his eyes bored holes in her back. She did not wear the formal clothing of the previous day, and in place of her mask, she simply applied light makeup, winging her eyes and then shadowing them to make it look like the dark circles that plagued her complexion were intentional. After more protests from him, she dragged herself to the Council Chambers.

It was mid day, and she had barely had a chance to get a word in edgewise while Arl Teagan and Duke Cyril argued through Leliana as she sat between them on the dais, her hands folded neatly before her. Josephine would pipe up every now and again to defend the Inquisition, but the Council was going just about as well as had been predicted.

“The Inquisition established an armed presence in Ferelden Territory. You outright seized Caer Bronach in Crestwood!” Arl Teagan accused, his finger wagging at Philippa who was currently glaring at him with her throbbing fist clenched under the table. She was doing her best to maintain a diplomatic air, but he was making it very difficult.

“Yes,” she agreed through gritted teeth. “It was overrun with _bandits_! Crestwood wasn't exactly in a place to do anything about them. I could go and offer it back to them if you'd like...”

Teagan huffed. “Your help was appreciated two years ago, Inquisitor. Now order has been restored, yet you remain. Invading under pretext of restoring order was exactly what the Grey Wardens did to us centuries ago, and we exiled them! Now the Inquisition is doing the same thing, with Grey Wardens in their ranks!”

Duke Cyril piped up, still haughtily insisting he was on Philippa's side. “Your concern is ill founded. The Grey Wardens have proved their worth time and again.”

Teagan snorted. “Of course Orlais tolerates this interference. The Inquisition is the only reason Celene still has the throne.”

“Rest assured, Teagan, the Empire of Orlais will not stand idle if the Inquisition oversteps it's bounds.” Philippa slowly dropped her head into her hands as Cyril droned on. “Unlike Ferelden, however, Orlais understands that these were the well-intentioned mistakes of a young organization.”

After rubbing her face, she glanced over at Josie who gave her an encouraging nod. _Chin up, Inquisitor_. It was hard to do that as the men argued. “An organization in need of a guiding hand. Yours, no doubt,” Teagan spat.

While the argument continued, an elven woman approached Philippa from behind and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Pardon me, Inquisitor. Divine Victoria wishes to speak with you in private.”

Philippa turned to frown at the woman. She was dressed in Inquisition trappings and stood politely smiling at her. “The Divine Victoria... who is sitting just up there?” Philippa hissed quietly as she nodded her head toward Leliana who sat between the two arguing countries.

“Yes. And who was once your spymaster,” the elf insisted with a wink. Philippa flicked her eyes to Leliana and the smiling Divine had been replaced by the menacing looking bard that had once been her spymaster. Leliana nodded carefully, so subtle that Philippa was uncertain if she truly saw it. “It's a pressing matter, Your Worship,” the elf whispered urgently.

Philippa cleared her throat. The argument above ceased as both men gaped at her. “I apologize, everyone. There is something that needs my attention immediately. Ambassador Montilyet, would you kindly stand in for me momentarily?”

Joesphine sputtered out an affirmative. “I... Of course, Inquisitor.”

“This is highly irregular!” Duke Cyril called after her as Philippa stood and followed the elven woman from the chambers.

"Are we not even worth the Inquisitor's time?" Teagan growled loudly.

Philippa heard Leliana calmly call a recess and she went around the outside of the building to wait for the Divine. When she joined them, the elf led them toward the garden section that housed the tavern. A small building behind the tavern was their destination. A crowd was gathered and Leliana parted the sea of people by simply being who she was. They entered the single room guarded by two Inquisition soldiers and the sight before them made Philippa take a step back. “The guard said we should both see this,” Leliana mused, kneeling carefully on a section of the floor that was not covered by the pool of blood spreading from the dead Qunari propped against the back wall. “I believe she was correct.” Leliana examined the body as closely as she dared in her white robes and Philippa knelt beside her, with curiosity. “A Qunari warrior in full armor. How did he get into the Winter Palace?”

Philippa stood, unable to stomach the smell that permeated the entire room. With a wry snort, she said, “Why am I not surprised that we're back at the Winter Palace and someone is dead?” She sighed, trying her best to breathe through her mouth. “Will Josie be okay in there while I snoop around?”

Leliana waved her hands. “She will be fine. It's all speeches and posturing for the first few days, anyway. I will extend the recess as long as possible. I will also have our friends ready themselves for battle, if need be.”

Philippa's stomach flipped. “Battle? It's one dead Qunari. Do you think that's necessary?” She had enough to contend with as her hand continued to remind her.

“I think the Exalted Council may be more exciting than we expected,” Leliana said with a smirk.

Between the council itself, her hand acting up, and now the new mess they had unwittingly stepped in, Philippa thought she was just about at capacity for excitement. Philippa ran her hands through her hair. “I'll go see if I can't figure out where the big guy came from. It's a good thing I packed my staff and armor. I just knew this was going to turn into a shit show."

Philippa left the small room and made her way through the gathered crowd, picking up on the blood trail outside. It circled to the side of the building and she noted a few broken pieces of lattice on a nearby trellis. When she looked up, she saw blood on the white pieces of wood, all of the way up to the third floor. She debated on going around, but decided faster was better and carefully climbed the broken trellis. It wasn't the first trellis she had climbed in the Winter Palace, why not uphold tradition? What she found at the end of the blood trail made her jaw drop in shock. "How in the Void did _you_ get here?" she mused. Standing tall in the middle of a room was an active eluvian glowing brightly. She reached out to touch it, but then drew her hand back. There was no way she was going in there alone and unarmed. A Qunari soldier had died in there.

She made her way back down the trellis and across from the cafe where a small rarely used smithy had been installed likely years ago and never touched. Only in Orlais could you find a smithy that was used as decoration. All of her former companions had been gathered. News spread quickly to those who Leliana decided to inform. When she walked in, they all turned to look at her with varying degrees of curiosity. She glanced at Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian, her usual crew... and grinned. "I hope you all packed your fightin' clothes, because there is an active eluvian parked in a guest room upstairs."

She prepared herself while the others speculated. When she pulled her gloves off and saw the progression of the spreading mark had reached her wrist, she quickly slipped her combat gloves on. She was glad that the veins of green magic hadn't reached up her fingers quite yet so they could be seen above the finger-less gloves.

They all headed to the eluvian with Cullen behind them so he could relocate the mirror to a more secure location while they investigated. Once they passed through, Philippa looked around, recognizing the foggy grey landscape. "Wonderful... We're back in the Crossroads." She had spent some of the most nerve-wracking weeks of her life in the Crossroads, and she couldn't say that she was anymore thrilled to be back again.

"Ach, I hate this place," Varric grumbled, rolling his shoulders and looking about as uncomfortable as she was. As amazing a marvel as they were, the Crossroads still felt, to her, like they were holding on by a thread. This particular section was seemingly hovering over the Void, looking out over nothingness as far down as the eye could see. Gaining her bearings, and sticking near the center of the narrow stone path that looked more broken than the previous section they had traveled, she looked around and spotted more blood on the ground, dotting the path off to their right.

It led them to a second mirror. She had no idea what to expect on the other side of the active portal to Maker knew where, but it was her job to investigate. She squared her shoulders and stepped through into a narrow, darkened hallway with a bright light shining through at the end about 30 feet away up a few flights of stairs. She recognized the architecture around her, having spent enough time in the years since Corypheus' death trekking through similar ruins. “These ruins are elven. I can't even tell if we're still in Orlais.” She cautiously followed the hallway towards the stairs and spotted another body on the second landing. “And we have another dead oxman. This just keeps getting better and better,” she said, kneeling to examine the body.

"He's part of their military. Dressed for war," Dorian pointed out. Coming from Tevinter, Dorian would know better than her what a Qunari dressed for war looked like. The ones in Kirkwall had not been quite so well prepared as these.

She got back to her feet and sighed. "That makes me feel better. Let's find out how they ended up on our doorstep, shall we?" As she climbed the final set of stairs into the daylight that was pouring in, magic crackled on the air. There were several rolling green hills around a valley with a lake below. The hills each had a tower resting on it's peak. In the middle of the lake was a small island with another structure built on it, connected to the land by a bridge. As she looked around, suddenly a magical explosion rocked the valley, drawing her attention. A burst of green magic spread around the top of the tower directly across from them in a ring that slowly dissipated as it rippled outwards. The sound was like a muffled pop and it made Philippa's ears thrum uncomfortably as she turned her attention back to where they were. More immediately, there was an eluvian directly ahead of them and standing between them and the mirror was a cluster of Qunari that had been turned to stone, all in various fighting positions. In the middle of them all on the ground was a great black scorch mark. "Magic did this," Philippa pointed out.

"From a powerful mage," Dorian agreed, rolling his shoulders. "You can still feel the heat crackling."

Philippa frowned. "I've encountered a saarebas before. A Qunari mage. They would be capable of magic this advanced. Maybe one of them slipped it's leash?"

Dorian shrugged. "Or we're dealing with something unknown..."

"Have I mentioned I missed your optimism, Dorian?" she teased, glancing back at him as she headed for the next open eluvian.

He chuckled as he followed her through the mirror. "Darling, I would be surprised if you could muddle through without me checking in on you every few months. It's why I got you that present for when I'm gone."

She glanced around and frowned. The mirror had not deposited them in the Crossroads, but in the middle of the lake on the small island that held the mechanism that would raise the bridge for them to cross over to the center island. She stepped forward, squinting across the water to the structure ahead. "There are Qunari over there. And these ones are alive."

"But it looks like the statue that fits in the bridge mechanism got broken somehow," Varric pointed out, picking up the shattered stone statuette and dropping the bottom half onto the ground.

"Probably in the explosion across the lake," Philippa shrugged. "That shockwave made my ears ring. I'm sure it could shatter an ancient statuette."

"Do you think the elves kept a spare?" he wondered.

"One way to find out..." Their only option was to head for the active Eluvian to their left. The entire area around the lake seemed interconnected, like a web of tunnels, no crossroads between them. They simply went in one side and out the other to a new area. It was mildly disorienting. Philippa fought off dizziness as she stepped out of the mirror, her head swimming with the odd sensation that there were spirits nearby, but their intentions were neither benign or malevolent. Surrounding her were more gray walkways of stone. They were still by the lake, judging by the sun. Up a set of stairs, they were stopped by several translucent spirits. They felt like guardians. Dorian gasped in wonder as one holding what looked like a giant hammer addressed Philippa. “Atish'all vallem, Fen'Harel elathandra.”

Dorian whispered to her. “The elves bound a spirit here? It feels... old. Very old.”

“The question is, why?” Philippa mumbled. "It feels friendly, but I suspect that could change if we don't answer it's question."

The spirit spoke again, more demanding this time. “Nuvenas mana helanin. Dirth bellasa ma.” Philippa cringed.

"Sorry," she said to the spirit. "I was absent the day they taught ancient elven passphrases..."

Her sass seemed to upset the spirit, and it raised the huge maul it carried over it's head. "Virthar ma. Na din'an sahlin!" It let the hammer fall, and it swung downwards toward Philippa. Caught off guard, she barely got out of the way, the head connecting with her left shoulder and knocking her to the side. She felt the joint pop out of place and her already numb arm screamed in pain. She stumbled backwards as Cassandra grabbed her right arm, shoving her behind her, and effectively shielding her from another blow. The sound of the hammer connecting with Cassandra's shield echoed around the suddenly too narrow space. The warrior grunted and pushed back, driving the spirit into a more open position while she drew her sword. The other spirits started to fire ethereal arrows into their midst as Philippa scrambled behind a stack of crates that was nearby, clutching her arm. She could hear the fight raging and she slowly let go of her shoulder to draw her staff. Taking a breath, she stepped back out to get a look at what was happening as she twirled her staff between her fingers that could still function. She cast a chain lightning to eliminate the archers that were attempting to make pincushions of Varric and Dorian, and then she sent a concentrated stonefist at the first spirit that had smashed her shoulder. The four archers went down and she growled in pain, clutching at her shoulder again as Cassandra took advantage of her spell to stab through the spirit's chest as it was knocked back.

"Ugh! That son of a bitch!" Philippa grunted, leaning on her staff, her injured arm held tight to her body.

Varric was closest to her and he steadied her with a gentle hand on her opposite elbow. "That needs to be put back in place, Charmer. Sit down," he coached, indicating the stairs they had come up. She made her way down a few steps and he stood on the stair just above where she sat. He took hold of her shoulder and her arm in each of his hands, probing the dislocation and then grinned at her. "If you need to hit me, try not to aim for the face or the groin."

"On three?" she asked through gritted teeth as his touch cast searing pain up and down her entire side.

He nodded and they began to count together. "One... two..." Varric swiftly pulled her arm outwards and then the joint ground audibly back into place. After the burst of pain, her head swam briefly before Varric's gloved hand repeatedly tapped her cheek. "All done," he promised, jarring her back to her senses.

"You went early," she whimpered as the pain dulled to join the throbbing from the mark.

"Yeah, Hawke always hated that too," he patted her other shoulder and then held out a hand to help her up.

"All better?" Dorian asked when she climbed the stairs.

She nodded, rolling the joint and cringing as she cast a small healing spell to fix any tears in her muscles. "I think that spirit considered us intruders," she pointed out sardonically.

"To be fair, we are," Varric pointed out with a chuckle.

"The elves didn't go through the trouble of binding it here if it wasn't to protect something. Let's see if we can't find out what," she agreed.

They circled the tower which, considering the smoke and rubble all around, was the one where the magical explosion had occurred. They hunted for a way inside the tower to find whatever had been worth protecting. On the far side of the tower, they came across more dead Qunari. Stifling the fire between them and the corpses, Philippa headed down the stairs to investigate. A note on one of the bodies was written in both Qunlat and the King's tongue. It looked to be orders of some kind, and Varric harrumphed. "Seems like the Qunari weren't just passing through."

Moving around the scene, Philippa allowed her mind to briefly wander into the Fade, using the crackling magic in the air and her own power to catch a brief glimpse of how the Qunari had died without stopping for a nap. "These Qunari were chased down," she explained. "We need to figure out where this began."

"Add it to the list of weird shit we need to figure out," Varric said, following her back up to finish their circuit of the tower.

Around the next side of the tower, Philippa noticed a large, shallow alcove that looked like it was supposed to be deeper. A green mosaic rested in the middle of the alcove depicting an inviting swirling pattern topped with the head of a wolf. The mark tingled and she looked down at her hand and then back at the mosaic. She could feel the magic in the art, like an illusion. After rubbing her palm with her fingers, she tentatively lifted her hand to the wall and the Anchor reacted, bursting with magic like it was familiar. After a nearly blinding dose of agony from the mark, her eyes closed as a strange feeling of welcome flowed over her and a few images of elves greeting their haggard brothers and sisters and tending their wounds flashed by her eyes. A humming voice spoke in the background like a narration. _Fen'Harel bids you welcome. Rest, knowing the Dread Wolf guards you and his people guard this valley. In this place, you are free. In trusting us, you will never be bound again._ When the words faded, Philippa opened her eyes and the mark finished absorbing the magic. When it snapped from where she held it, the mosaic dissolved like a curtain to reveal the alcove's hidden section that housed another eluvian. She shook out her hand as the magic tingled through the spreading veins of magic. The sensation was mildly familiar if a hundred times more painful. "The mosaic held memories, like veilfire," she explained as she stepped toward the eluvian. "According to what it portrayed, this valley was where elven slaves came for refuge."

Varric frowned. "You mean the ancient elves kept slaves? Maker's breath, one more thing never to tell Daisy." She knew that Varric loved his nicknames, and from what she gathered from stories Garrett told her, Daisy was their elven mage friend who had used blood magic.

She nodded. "The best part is, apparently the sanctuary was created by Fen'Harel."

Dorian frowned as well. "Fen'Harel? The Dalish elves' god of misfortune?"

Again, Philippa nodded. "I wonder what Ariane will think of this..." When they went through the eluvian, Philippa stumbling again with the disorienting trip, across the valley to their right was the tower they had just left.

"So the old elves had many uses for these... devices," Cassandra said with a scowl as she observed the valley below. Dorian looked at Philippa askance, noting how the eluvians were affecting her differently than them. The trips, and the pain from the mark were collectively making her nauseous.

Shrugging, and offering him a questioning look, she pretended everything was fine as a pit settled in her gut. As she gathered her bearings, they headed up to a path that ringed the outside of the tower and Varric picked up on her discomfort as well, resorting to his usual silence filling commentary. "So, we're getting the band back together? That's exciting."

Cassandra scoffed, apparently oblivious to the unease that had settled over them. "We are not a 'band' of any sort."

Varric smirked. "Just because you can't carry a tune, Seeker, doesn't mean you're not front and center in our band of misfits."

"Marvelous, isn't it? What a change of pace from the Winter Palace," Dorian agreed. "A clear sky, a beautiful view, and..." he swept his arm out to encompass the valley they could see from the tall tower where they stood. "Yes! Fields and fields of stripweed as far as the eye can see!"

Cassandra allowed herself to be distracted from her scowl at Varric and she wrinkled her nose. "Strip-what?"

"Terrible stuff," Dorian explained. "Looks like grass stings like a knife, and causes sores if you so much as brush against it. So of _course_ everyone in Minrathous insists 'it makes a very decent tea'."

Philippa could feel more of the elven spirits that had attacked them, lurking somewhere nearby. When they crested a set of stairs that led them up to the next level, she paused, seeing more dead Qunari. Cassandra knelt this time, observing the body. "Wounds on the back. No blood on his sword. Someone took him by surprise."

"The air is cool and the blood hasn't coagulated. This happened recently," Philippa agreed, glancing around. She had a feeling the spirits had done this.

Directly ahead of them, another of the mosaics stood, shimmering invitingly. The pattern depicted a man with the head of a wolf, likely Fen'Harel, surrounded by several other elves. After the initial burst of pain, this mosaic offered hope that coiled in her gut as behind her closed eyes, she saw an elf clad in wolfskin among a group of freed slaves and more words fluttered around inside her head. _Fen'Harel has been falsely named a god, but is as mortal as any of you. He takes no divine mantle, and asks that none be bestowed upon him. He leads only those who would help willingly. Let none be beholden but by choice._

When the voice faded and the mosaic disappeared, the mark tingled again, making her clench her fist and then shake her hand again. It was probably a terrible idea to be using the mark when it was in this state, but it seemed she had little choice. "This memory stated that Fen'Harel was _not_ actually a god."

Looking around, Cassandra frowned. "He took great pains to renounce his supposed divinity."

Varric snorted. " 'Ordinary guy saves people, accidentally founds religion'. Sounds a lot like the Chant, actually."

Dorian scoffed. "Fen'Harel sounds quite the rebel. The old 'elven gods' must have simply loved that."

Behind the mosaic was an impossibly dark stairway that descended in a circle. Four landings deep, Philippa followed the light from her staff to see where she was going. Elven paintings lined the oppressive walls around them. The art was strangely familiar, but with her muddled thoughts, she could not trace the feeling. Picking through rubble in the dark, they found another mosaic. Philippa sighed as she lifted her hand toward the magic.

Dorian reached out and grabbed her forearm and pain lanced up her arm. She flinched as he said, "Should you?"

She shrugged. "No choice." Dorian released her arm grudgingly and she offered him a smile that she hoped looked cheerful before reaching again for the magic. She felt a fury rise above the hope from the last mosaic as she watched a group of mages claiming godhood as they enslaved tens of thousands. _The gods, our Evanuris, claim divinity, yet they are naught but mortals powerful in magic who can die as you can. In this place, we teach those who join us to unravel their lies._ Philippa laughed out loud as she shook her hand again. "Fen'Harel wasn't the only false god it seems. The elven gods were known as 'Evanuris'. They were bloody mages. Powerful ones, but no more immortal than Corypheus."

Cassandra gasped. "Was this the start of an uprising? Freed elven slaves against their former masters?"

"Led by the 'Dread Wolf' himself. He was the one to reveal the lies," With the new revelation, Philippa continued into the room ahead that was completely dark save for a massive chandelier that hung from the ceiling emitting odd bursts of magic. Through the sparks of green light from the source, she could see the outline of a pedestal. She approached cautiously, but before she reached the pedestal, one of the sparks of magic licked toward her and the mark reacted, stinging her like a whip. She cried out in surprise and pain as the room went pitch black around them.

Dorian moved up beside her, laying a hand on her back. "Are you hurt?"

Gritting her teeth as the burning pain receded, she held the mark up in front of her. "I don't have a clue. Whatever it was, it's gone for now... Something's different about the mark."

She could feel odd new tendrils linked to the magic of the mark. She reached inward, tracing the new sensation. When she took hold of it and pushed it outwards, the mark burst with magic, leaking some of the built up energy that had amassed since she had absorbed the memories from the mosaics. All around her, light trickled, and her skin shimmered the color of the magic. She glanced up and noticed that it was encompassing her friends as well. "And we're glowing..." Varric sighed, rolling his eyes.

"It's a barrier," Philippa concluded after tasting the magic. "Rudimentary... and it won't last long, but it's strong. Might be useful when the Qunari start throwing spears."

"Granted you can replicate it," Dorian agreed with a nod.

In the light from the magic, Philippa turned and looked at the pedestal. "There you are, Varric! The elves _did_ keep a spare."

On the pedestal was an unbroken replica of the shattered wolf statuette from the bridge mechanism. Philippa reached out and picked it up as the mark's magic faded, bathing them in darkness again. The change was only brief, however, when the statuette left it's pedestal and about six of the guardian spirits shimmered into existence. "I don't think they want you to have that, Charmer," Varric warned as the spirits charged at them with inhuman speed.

"Oops?" Philippa said as she pulled her staff and erected a normal barrier around them all. The spirits were almost as fast as the sentinels they had met in the Arbor Wilds, flicking swiftly back and forth, in and out of sight and slashing at them with angry daggers. After trying to hit them, unsuccessfully, Philippa resorted to calling on her force magic. She cast a gravitic ring, snagging the elves in the radius of her spell and slowing their movements to a crawl. Varric quickly sniped as many as he could while Cassandra struck down the rest with her sword.

When the magic and the spirits faded, the room went dark again. Varric grumbled. "This place is creepy. Let's get back to the bridge."

Philippa couldn't have agreed more. They backtracked through the eluvians in silence, Dorian's eyes boring holes in her back. He could tell something was off. She fitted the statue into the base and a click resounded before the bridge began to raise from the lake with a loud rumbling. As soon as they crossed over, a group of Qunari piled out of the large sanctuary building ahead and the lead one shouted. "Vashedan! The Inquisition doesn't leave alive."

They attacked with vigor, some of the warriors throwing their heavy spears into the fray from great distances, making Philippa paranoid. More than once, she had to dive out of the way, rolling back to her feet and taking cover behind anything she could find to get a handle on the situation, only to be charged by massive shield wielding warriors that hit like a druffalo. She got banged around several times, relying on her Fade step spell to get her away when someone got too close. Her heart was racing in fear, her brain constantly reminding her that she was only alive after being speared last time because Anders had been there to save her. She had no one but herself this time. Dorian was a fair healer, but he wouldn't have the mana or the skill for that big of a job.

It was hard enough fought that when they entered the sanctuary after that group was gone, she groaned in frustration at the mess of Qunari already engaged with more of the elven spirits inside. She was tempted to allow them to kill each other and pick off the spoils, but the easier solution was to handle it themselves while they were distracted with each other.

The entire building was littered with Qunari and all of them took a ridiculous amount of damage before falling. "Why, in the Maker's name are the bloody Qunari attacking the Inquisition?" Philippa gasped as she healed a shallow cut across her upper thigh that stung and then moved on to her numerous bruises and her companion's injuries.

"Qunari never act without orders," Cassandra supplied as Philippa closed a gash on the warrior's forearm. "A commander in the Qun must have given them."

"So this isn't just a faction? All of the Qunari want us dead?" Philippa asked, her eyes widening.

"Well!" Dorian barked a short laugh. "At last the Inquisition and Tevinter have something in common."

At the very rear of the sanctuary stood a massive wolf statue sitting in a relaxed position. A plaque in front of it stated, _The Dread Wolf keeps it's gaze on the one light that illuminates the way forward_. The walls formed a circle around the statue and were covered in a rather impressive depiction of an elf clad in wolf skin casting a spell on some others kneeling before him. Philippa studied it carefully and hummed. "The one in the wolf skin. I'll assume that's Fen'Harel... but what's he doing? Are the tattoos being removed from the Dalish elves?"

"Isn't this place older than the Dalish?" Varric mused.

Philippa nodded and then shrugged, noting the veilfire sconces nestled along the wall at regular intervals. "It's not like the Dalish invented tattoos. Perhaps if they are meant to honor the gods now, they were like Orlesian masks back then. They represented the Evanuris that particular slave served." She wished they could stick around and puzzle out more of the clues, but she needed to find out the answers to her more pressing questions first.

Varric grunted his agreement. "Like branding your livestock..."

Philippa grimaced at the comparison as she glanced back at the statue. It's gaze was fixed directly at one of the sconces. Puzzling out the riddle from the plaque, she lit that sconce. The veilfire illuminated a shadowed button between the feet of the statue. She pressed it, and a mechanism activated, the entire statue, along with it's base, slid aside to reveal a stairway down. "Oh, secrets..." she said with a grin as she started downward and was stopped by another of the shimmering mosaics. She was inundated with a great determination as the mark connected with the magic. Clear faced elves flashed by, clad in armor and clutching weapons. _The brand of the Evanuris can be lifted from you, that all may know you oppose their cruelties. None here are slaves. All are under our protection. All may choose to fight._ She grunted, shaking out her hand, as they passed through the disappearing mosaic and saw a hidden armory. "So after the Dread Wolf freed them, the slaves rose up to fight against their oppressors, but only by choice. Nothing was expected of them."

Dorian hummed in thought, rubbing his chin. “Interesting word, 'Evanuris'... If all it means is 'mage leader', well, they were basically Magisters.”

They followed the stairs down past the armory into what looked like a barracks. On the far side of the enclosed room, there stood another Eluvian surrounded by a huge group of Qunari. It was an enclosed space and Philippa felt extremely uncomfortable. She felt trapped as Cassandra stepped in front of her, shield raised, and the Qunari spotted them. She did everything she could to keep out of reach of the Qunari, but they had a female that fought with two daggers like Garrett always carried, and she was fast for her size. Philippa was backpedaling as she slashed at her, spinning and reaching with those deadly knives. Varric grabbed Philippa's arm and pulled her out of the way as Cassandra rushed in, bashing the female with her shield and knocking her away. Dorian took down the other Qunari still standing with a concentrated lightening bolt and Varric let go of Philippa's arm as she doubled over, panicked breathing threatening to overwhelm her. She swallowed a wash of nausea as she gathered her wits and called on her mana to heal the slash across her stomach from the bottom of her sternum to her hip. It was shallow, but it was bleeding heavily, staining her clothes. "You good, Charmer?"

Philippa swallowed again and nodded. "Yeah, just... I have issues with fighting Qunari. You'll recall the last time I went up against them, I ended up with a spear through the gut." She straightened around the tugging of the healing slash and inspected it gently before sighing and shaking out her arms in an attempt to shake off her fears. "I'm fine."

The barracks seemed to be where the Qunari had set up shop, so Philippa moved toward a long table laden with papers and maps, hoping for clues. Shuffling through the correspondences, she spotted one in particular that drew her attention. Scrolling over the Qunlat, she read the translated script below. "According to this, the bastards only came here because this section of eluvians leads to Halamshiral."

"A staging ground?" Cassandra guessed. "For an invasion?"

"If not an invasion, they were after something. The orders are pretty vague," Philippa sighed, setting down the paper and picking up another. "Look at this... The spirits that attacked us... Someone the Qunari called an 'unknown intruder' activated the valley's defenses to waylay the Qunari.

"It must be a mage," Dorian interpreted. "They killed any Qunari in the way and let the spirits do the rest."

"So, not only are the Qunari involved, but we have a mystery agent that seems to at least be against them. Enemy of my enemy and all that. I wish I knew who our friend was." Philippa sighed. How had this gone so sideways? It was meant to be a boring few weeks of deliberation... "At any rate, we should get back and warn everyone about the Qunari and their plans to infiltrate the Palace."

After they stepped through the eluvian in the barracks and found themselves back at the beginning of the labyrinth where they had first entered the ruins, they made their way back down to the mirror that connected to the Crossroads and the Winter Palace. Cassandra moved up to walk beside Philippa, an encouraging smile on her face. "It has been too long since we have traveled together. I have missed it."

"Aw, you missed me!" Varric interrupted, before Philippa had a chance to respond.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "It! I said I missed 'it'." One of her signature noises of disgust slipped from her throat and Philippa chuckled lightly. If they were going to be fighting Qunari, it was at least good to have her favorite team of friends at her back.


	51. Worse and Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After heading back into the eluvian to investigate further, Philippa uncovers a few more details about what the Qunari are up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was a few days late this week. I've been busy with our YouTube channel and editing.

Back at the Winter Palace, Josephine, Cullen and Leliana had set up a small base of operations in what Philippa considered little more than a broom closet. She had not planned on Leliana making herself part of the meeting, but she was standing on Cullen's right as usual on the opposite side of a table in the small storage room. Her arms were clasped behind her back and she swayed her hips. Even in the unflattering vestments, it was a small comfort to see her spymaster had changed little. Cullen was sneering, his sword back at his hip. "One dead Qunari was bad enough. Now we have more, and they're hostile," he grumbled as he paced, Philippa matching him step for step, jamming her thumb into the mark on her palm, trying to stop the throbbing after she had explained what they had found. The back and forth movement was both soothing and nauseating.

“This makes no sense,” Josephine said, stopping Cullen with a hand to his forearm. Apparently the pacing was getting to her too. “The Qunari may not be friendly to the Inquisition, but they have no reason to attack us.”

“They also have no reason to be here... or using Eluvians... at all,” Leliana added, her tall hat tipping with her head.

“I've had the mirror placed under guard for now, Your Holiness,” Cullen explained, stopping Philippa in her tracks and making Leliana briefly sneer.

Leliana sighed heavily. “Cullen, please just call me Leliana.”

"Yes, Your..." she backhanded his arm and he chuckled. "Leliana."

Philippa crossed her arms, her marked hand balled in a fist. “Corypheus has been dead two years. I should have known something was about to go awry,” she said with a sigh, before fidgeting and leaning on the table between herself and the others.

“First the Blight... then the mages and templars... then Corypheus, now this... Can't we go ten years without the world falling to pieces?” Cullen grumbled, his hands landing on his sword hilt. If only he knew the personal threat he was under. The snaking tendrils of the spreading corruption of the mark had reached her wrist. She didn't need to see it to know. She could feel the pulsing magic seeking release.

“We must ensure that the Qunari do not disrupt the negotiations. The Exalted Council is in a very delicate state,” Josephine said warily.

Cullen's nose wrinkled in disgust. “I'm certain you can soothe the nobles' ruffled feathers while we solve the real problem.” They were both right. The Qunari were indeed a threat, but the fate of their entire lives rested on what was decided at the Council.

Josephine frowned and brandished her quill at him. “ _Not_ when the Inquisitor insults everyone present by walking out in the middle of the talks!” Philippa flushed as Josie's face smoothed and she glanced at her. “Our only advantage is that Orlais and Ferelden are divided in goal and grievance. If they unite against us, Divine Victoria will have no choice but to support their claims. We could lose everything.” Philippa's stomach balled up in knots. That was exactly what she couldn't allow to happen.

“I'm aware that I have dumped a great deal on your shoulders, Josie,” Philippa said softly. “I promise, I will do everything I can to alleviate the hardship.”

Josie hung her head. “My apologies. I will attend to the Exalted Council.”

“And while Josie does that, we will investigate,” Leliana said with a hint of excitement that Philippa did not share.

“ 'We?' Your Holiness?” Josephine asked quizzically.

Leliana turned her head forward and scowled, her lips pursed. Then a frustrated sigh escaped her. “You too, Josie?”

Philippa sighed. “We need more information on the Qunari. As much as I hate the idea, I'll take a team back into the Crossroads to see if we can find out anything else.”

“And I'll have a quiet word with our Honor Guard,” Cullen assured her, his expression questioning as he watched her fidget. She offered him a smile that his frown told her he didn't buy for a second. She made a speedy exit, only to run into Dorian just outside.

His arms were crossed and a disapproving scowl twisted his face. "We need to have a talk, Phil."

"About?" she asked, playing aloof, and trying to skirt past him so she could make some repairs and replacements to her gear.

He rolled his eyes and took her by the arm to lead her to a secluded corner where they couldn't be seen or heard. "Don't think I haven't noticed your pinched brow and your reaction when I took your arm earlier. It has to do with the Anchor, doesn't it?"

At mention of the Anchor, she hugged her hand to her chest, covering it with the other before chuckling a little bit too loudly. "It's nothing. Some weird elven magic just made it flare a little bit."

Dorian held out his hand and beckoned her with his shimmering fingers. "Show me." It was not a request and Philippa scowled. He pursed his lips. "Please don't force me to wrestle you for it, Phil. Perhaps I can help." His voice softened a bit with his last sentence and she bit her lip, loosening her grip on the pulsing ache that was her left hand. Finally, she swallowed and gingerly unbent her elbow and placed her hand in his. He carefully pulled her glove free and then rolled up her sleeve. "Fasta Vass," he gasped as he saw the snaking tendrils of green veining that had now climbed halfway up her forearm. "How long has it looked like this?" He pulled her arm closer to examine the mark and then turned her hand over to look at the back of it.

"It was fine yesterday," she said. "It started to hurt when I arrived at the Palace, and it's been getting progressively worse since. When I woke this morning was when I noticed it spreading."

"And you said nothing?" he asked scoldingly.

"I had the Exalted Council to contend with," she explained. "It was under control."

"Obviously it wasn't," Dorian sighed glancing sadly up at her. "I..." he cleared his throat. "I will see if there is anything I can think up to help ease the pain or slow down the progression."

"In the mean time, we need to get back to the Crossroads and see if we can figure out anything else about the Qunari," she said.

As Dorian pulled her sleeve down, she noted his concerned fingers lingering over the mark. "I suppose there is nothing I can do to stop you?" he asked softly, handing her glove back to her.

" _I'm_ the Inquisitor, Dorian. I can't just hide away in some corner." She grasped his hand with her good arm, squeezing tightly. "You can't tell Cullen what you saw. I don't need him worrying while we're taking care of business."

"If you don't want him worrying, I suggest you pull your glove back on, because here he comes," Dorian warned her.

She swiftly tugged her glove back on, covering the mayhem that was her arm. "I just wanted to spend some time with my friends and survive the Exalted Council. Was that so much to ask?"

"Too much it would seem," Dorian said patting her opposite hand before tipping his head to Cullen with a smile and leaving them.

Cullen's hands fell on her shoulders and she turned to smile at him, hoping it as more convincing than the last smile she had left him with. "You're more on edge than usual, Phil." His thumbs lightly caressed her shoulders through her sleeves. "It's not like you to be this...raw. What has you so worried?"

She lifted her right arm and flattened her palm on his chest, slipping her finger between his buttons. She forced herself to continue smiling. "In case you forgot, the Qunari and I have a... gut-wrenching... history. They make me nervous. I really don't relish fighting a whole horde again."

His eyes shifted up and down her person, taking in every sliver of damage to her clothes and the bloodstain down her side where the dagger had sliced her. "I understand. Just... be sure you're careful. I don't wish to become a widower after only being married for a day. 'Til death do us part should be a long way away."

She snorted. "There are plenty of Orlesians lining up to take my place. You'll bounce back."

He cringed, his hands tightening. "Andraste preserve me..."

"Oooh, say it Commander..." she teased, drawing a smile to his lips as she stepped closer and leaned in to briefly take his earlobe between her teeth.

"You're terrible... Get out of here," he gently pulled her off him, his cheeks on fire as he glanced around to be sure no one had seen.

She hummed out a brief chuckle. "My heart is all a flutter. I love it when you use your sharp tongue."

She stepped out of his reach, maintaining her grin as long as she was looking at him. As she turned, he called after her, "For the Maker's sake, be careful... and repair that armor!"

She blew a kiss over her shoulder and headed for the decorative smithy to see if it was actually useful, her smile fading immediately.

Back in the Crossroads, before she even looked around, she could feel that something had shifted. At first glance nothing seemed amiss until movement caught her eye. Across the chasm ahead of them, a new path had appeared, and a group of Qunari were heading across it from the direction of the eluvian that led to the elven ruins they had just left. Stragglers, she supposed. She touched Dorian's forearm as they started forward. "Can you feel that, or is it a somniari thing? That path... The Crossroads has been... reshaped."

"I don't feel the change, but the Qunari seem to be walking over it without incident," he said, smiling at her.

"They're going into another eluvian on the other side. We should follow them," she suggested.

She tentatively crossed the bridge, trying her best not to look over the edges into the foggy abyss of the Crossroads below. On the other side, before they entered the eluvian where the Qunari had disappeared, there was a large red artifact, larger than Azure's egg had been but shaped just the same with golden embellishments and a hand shaped indentation on it's surface. "What's that?" Dorian wondered.

Philippa hummed, feeling the shifting magic surrounding the egg. "This is how they shifted the pathways... well, more like revealed them... watch." She touched her palm to the surface, siphoning a small amount of mana into the artifact. The path they had just crossed disappeared from sight. She repeated the process and a shimmering illusion flickered at the edge where they stood. She moved to it, and boldly stepped onto the invisible path. It extended beneath her feet.

"Remarkable," Dorian gasped in wonder.

She smiled and then remembered why they were there. "We should probably see what the Qunari are up to. Weapons ready..."

After the brightness of the Crossroads, Philippa's eyes needed a moment to adjust before she could see in the darkness they stepped into. Tapping her staff on the ground, she lit the crystal on the head to brighten up the area. They stood on a dark and dank overlook, hovering over an equally dark abyss below. Above their heads was pitch black, save for the thick blue veins of lyrium that snaked along the impossibly high ceilings. How in the Void had an _elven_ eluvian led them to _dwarven_ carved Deep Roads? Evidence in the construction spoke to both races.

Before her curiosity had the chance to get the better of her, Cassandra pointed to a turn in the path ahead where she could see a faint glow of torchlight. They cautiously approached. Just around the corner, the Qunari were setting up a pile of large rounded metal casks against some rubble that seemed to be blocking the way forward. When one of them turned and spotted them approaching, again without even a chance to talk, the Qunari attacked. "Vashedan! You who serve Fen'Harel! The Qun demands your death!"

Philippa dove back around the corner as three spears flew at her, lodging in the ground where she had been standing. Cursing, she readied a large fireball and flung it around the corner blindly. As it sailed, she erected a barrier to protect her friends. The fireball slammed into the chest of one of the warriors and he stumbled backwards toward the silver casks. As he flailed, trying to put the fire out on his chest, several other Qunari attempted to dive out of the way. Their efforts were in vein. He collided with one of the casks, tripping and tumbling on top of another. In seconds, a booming explosion rocked the overlook. Without her barrier, everyone within a fifteen foot radius would have been blown to bits. As the fire died, Philippa rounded the corner and shouted. "Maker's breath! Is everyone all right?"

Her friends all seemed intact, if a bit surprised. Cassandra toed a bit of Qunari that had landed near her, her lip curled back. Varric looked around, frowning as he folded up Bianca's arms and secured her back over his shoulder. "Why would a mystical elven mirror lead here?"

Equally curious, Philippa nodded. "We came her to find out what the Qunari were doing, and their bombs conveniently cleared some rubble that was in the way... Maybe answers lie ahead?" As she pointed out, the Qunari had helpfully opened the way with their exploding barrels. When she passed through the now open path, there were a few Qunari lying dead, crushed by large rocks. "They've been in here a while. The ones we just killed must have been clearing a cave-in." Passing by the ruined room, they came upon a grand staircase that followed the curved wall down and around to the right. At the bottom of the stairs, the path that had once been there was crumbled, leaving a great gaping chasm. Philippa gasped as she saw across the pit to where Qunari loitered about everywhere. There was scaffolding and what looked to be mining equipment. "Are they... mining lyrium? This is a massive operation."

"But why?" Cassandra wondered with as much curiosity as Philippa.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, just before passing through an archway, off in the distance, another explosion rocked the cavern, rocks and sand falling from the ceiling. Varric brushed his shoulders off and grumbled. "Well, now we know why shit keeps falling down."

Philippa looked up, shielding her eyes. "I think I am figuring out why you don't like the Deep Roads, Varric. All of this rock over my head is... unsettling. Especially when it's this unstable."

"We could turn around and go back..." he said with a grin, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.

Shaking her head, Philippa pressed forward. A few steps into another pitch dark area, the mark decided to flare, shooting a burst of shocking agony up her arm and into her jaw. She bit back a cry, gritting her teeth, and Cassandra said softly, "Once again, your mark is glowing. Are you all right?"

Philippa grimaced to herself, but turned to smile casually. "Glowing is useful." She lifted her palm and discharged the built up magic, as she had before and continued ahead, the mark lighting their way.

Varric soon started his usual complaining. "Great, we're in the Deep Roads. I feel myself getting dwarfier by the minute. Did I just sprout a beard?"

Cassandra scoffed. "Yes, yes. You hate the Deep Roads, and caves, and the outdoors."

Dorian barked a laugh and continued, "Orlesian cafes. Taverns that are too tidy. Slopes of greater than ten degrees..."

Varric let out his own scoff, cutting them off before Philippa could add her own list. "Look, I have to complain, or you'll forget I'm here and trip over me! I'm providing a service."

Philippa chuckled briefly before her ears picked up on a strange echoing squeak. She glanced around, and just outside of the dimming ring of light the mark was giving them, she saw dozens of pairs of glowing eyes. "Deep Stalkers!" she warned.

Both Philippa and Dorian laid down a glyph beneath the cluster of reptiles and cast an immolate spell. The immediate and sudden smell of charred meat and the shrieks and squeaks of the dying creatures made Philippa cringe as it turned her stomach. "Well this place is all kinds of fun!" Varric said sarcastically as Philippa swallowed, trying to breathe shallowly through her mouth. "What are the Qunari even doing in a place this awful?"

Cassandra pursed her lips. "After all the places we have been, I hardly expected to find us in another cave."

Varric chuckled. "Hey, I'm not any happier about this than you are."

They descended a makeshift stairway just ahead, drawn ahead by a flickering light below. Philippa spotted a person in the room beneath them. Frowning, she dropped in from the small opening, the others on her heels. "Ser Jerran?" She recognized the very human ex-templar. He had served in Kirkwall. What in the Maker's name was he doing here?

He jumped up, their sudden appearance startling him. "Stay back!" he brandished his sword, and then frowned. "I know your face. Enchanter Hawke? What are you doing..." his eyes flicked to her hand and the glowing mark. "Are _you_ the Inquisitor?"

She crossed her arms. "You know this place is crawling with Qunari, right? I'm not really the one out of place here."

He shook his head, lowering his sword and sighing. “We don't have much time. Please, what the Viddasala is doing... you have to stop her.”

"That word... sounds Qunari. What does it mean?" she asked, her frown deepening.

"She's the leader of the Qunari here. She hates magic. Her job was to study it and stop it. At all costs. Not anymore. I don't care whether you serve Fen'Harel or not. Someone has to stop her," he explained, making Philippa even more confused.

“The Qunari think we're serving a long dead elven legend? Why?” Philippa asked, her brow cocked and her hip following.

“I don't know. The Viddasala said it, and the Qunari here accept it as fact,” Jerran said, fidgeting with his sleeves. “We've had agents of Fen'Harel causing trouble all over the Crossroads. Sabotage, making spirits attack us... I assumed the Inquisition was their army, that you came here because Fen'Harel told you to.”

How could Fen'Harel have told them anything? He was centuries dead. “How did you get mixed up with the Qunari?” She asked. She had assumed he had been killed in the fighting with the Qunari when he hadn't returned with the rest of the templars.

“You remember what it was like in Kirkwall. I tried my best to serve the Order, but a few too many injustices went unpunished. I left the templars and joined the Qun,” he admitted.

“You're Qunari?” she asked, knowing it was possible for other races to join, even though it was rare. The Qunari were not a race per say. They were a religion.

“Kirkwall was... madness. Chaos. The Qunari were like the eye of a storm,” he explained. “I stand for order and discipline, protecting the innocent from magic, but this plan... It's as mad as Meredith ever was.”

“You said the leader of these Qunari is off the books? Not doing her job?” Philippa pressed.

“Almost a complete reversal, actually,” he said with a shrug. “This place is a Lyrium mining and processing center. The Qunari need it for... have you ever heard of Saarebas?”

Philippa cringed and nodded. "We're acquainted..."

"Then you know Qunari mages are... much more dangerous than those among humans or elves. Even as a templar, I'd never seen anything like the power saarebas can unleash... And now, Viddasala is giving them lyrium. A lot of lyrium. It's part of something she calls 'Dragon's Breath',” Jerran said, worry in his tone. "There's more to it than that, but I couldn't find out what. The Qunari don't like it when you ask too many questions.”

“Even if the Qunari wanted to, they shouldn't be able to mine lyrium,” Philippa said with a frown. “Unless they have dwarves doing the mining, it should kill them.”

Jerran nodded. “It killed the Qunari at first. But Qunari workers have a discipline only Tranquil can match. And they're quick learners. They figured it out.”

In spite of the implications of this place, it suddenly hit her what he had said the Viddasala was calling the plan. “Does Viddasala really think 'Dragon's Breath' is a clever name?”

“You know that most dragons' breath destroys everything in it's path, right?” the former templar asked with a shrug. “She said it would 'save the south'. That can mean only one thing... an invasion. This mine is the only source of Lyrium the Qunari have. They're using gaatlock... the explosive powder in the round casks... to mine, so they don't have to touch raw Lyrium. If you get the primers from central supply, you can prime the gaatlock and detonate it. The mines will go up in flames.”

“That can't really be all I need to do to stop a Qunari invasion...” Philippa pointed out skeptically.

“It would be a start,” he shrugged. “Deep stalkers and cave ins will cut off reinforcements, but they'll still come when they hear trouble. You've got to find the Viddasala to end this war before it begins.”

She had a bit more information, but blowing up the already unstable cavern did not make her feel any better. “This place is already fixing to fall down around our ears. If I blow up much more, there's no telling what might happen. Get out if here before you can't,” she said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I will. Good luck, Inquisitor...” Jerran said with a short bow.

Once he was gone, she rubbed at her palm and said sarcastically, “I've always wanted to blow up a lyrium mine...”

Just outside of the room where Jerran had been keeping himself, the ring of light from his fire dimmed, leaving them in near darkness again. As they picked their way through the badly damaged paths, Varric huffed. "Why is it so dark? Don't dwarven ruins usually glow with... lyrium, or lava, or whatever's running through the walls?"

Philippa couldn't help wondering the same thing. She was no expert, but she had seen a few examples of the Deep Roads. Vinmark, the red lyrium mine they had shut down, and the small section beneath Crestwood, had all had a natural light. This ruin, except where the Qunari had fires burning, was nearly pitch black. It was eerie and it did nothing for the claustrophobia she was feeling beneath the crumbling ceilings.

The farther in they pushed, the more Qunari they came across. The longer it took to fight them, the more uneasy Philippa got. She wanted to find central supply, blow up the gaatlok and get the Void out of there. All the while, she could feel the spreading of the tendrils of magic from the mark that seemed to be slowly suffocating blood-flow to her hand. They came to a long bridge that floated over the chasm they had seen on the way down. As they crossed, the cavern shook again, more large rocks falling from the high ceiling above. Phiippa still could not see to the roof, which was probably better than being able to see the stalactites that hovered above, waiting to fall and impale them.

They were forced to fight their way across the bridge, and when they finally reached the opposite side, Cassandra looked around at all of the bodies and sighed in concern. "Last time, it took an Exalted March to stop the Qunari... and that barely worked. If they strike now, Thedas may fall."

Philippa really did not want to think about that. With the state of the Mark and the number of people trying to kill her, she was getting a gut wrenching feeling that she would not be around to help in that fight. She needed to stop this now, before it got too far. Dorian seemed to sense her growing concerns and swiftly changed the subject. "All this lyrium," he waved one of his hands out toward the massive veins of blue that snaked along the distant ceiling. "If the Qunari wanted they could make a fortune."

Varric chuckled. "Sure, if they wanted to fight Orzammar tooth and nail for it."

Dorian frowned. "How would they wage war? Qunari sappers crawling through tunnels? Dwarves sinking dreadnoughts at night?"

Varric shrugged and then nudged Dorian. "We'd probably just bribe the Imperium to launch a war for us."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Of course. Silly of me to ask, really."

As Philippa forced a soft chuckle around the growing pit in her stomach, they rounded a corner toward a narrow path around a central wall that split the walkway they were on. Hidden behind the corner were more Qunari. Philippa yelped in surprise and backpedaled, thrusting a panicked blast of ice from her palms that froze the oxmen solid before they even saw it coming. One of the brand new statues had his spear raised and pointed directly at Philippa. The sight made her cringe and she angrily gripped her staff and swung it so it slammed into the brittle Qunari. They fell to pieces and she inhaled a deep breath to slow her racing heart.

Even as her breathing slowed the cavern shook, and she brushed off her fears to continue around the narrow path. There was no guardrail along the edge, and the world swam around her as she started forward. Philippa huddled along the left side, her back pressed to the wall and her staff in her hand for balance as she shuffled sideways along the path. Her heart was racing again and there was a lump in her throat. It was best she couldn't see down below because the height would have probably given her a heart attack. She stopped as another quake rocked the cavern. “Maker's Breath,” she gasped, closing her eyes and trying to disappear into the wall. Dorian settled a hand on her shoulder with a smile, helping her along. When she stepped off the ledge onto a wider path, she breathed a sigh of relief. “We're going back another way,” she panted.

The darkness took over again as they passed through a tunnel that led downwards. She lit the cavern with the anchor, realizing that the more she used it, the less built up the energy got and the less it hurt. Perhaps it might buy her some time to figure out this Qunari mess and then work on solving the issue of the spreading magic. The maze of the facility was easy enough to pick their way through When they came upon 'central supply', they were met by a huge Qunari led by four others. The giant's horns had been shaven down, his eyes covered by a golden colored mask that had small holes drilled in it so he could barely see. A thick metal collar surrounded his neck and his lips were sewn shut. A strong binding was being controlled by the collar around his neck. “Saarebas,” she hummed, remembering full well the horrifying manner in which the Qunari bound their mages. A loud humming began to echo through the huge room, bouncing off the tall structural pillars. The collared Qunari folded in on itself as it began to cast and Philippa discharged the anchor again, allowing the barrier to fall over her and the others. The spell exploded outward, blasting in a radius around the mage and knocking back everything in its path including Philippa and her companions. The spell slammed her against the far wall and she gasped for breath as she collapsed to her hands and knees, her staff clattering out of reach.

Cassandra recovered more quickly and charged for the Qunari, drawing it's attention away from the others as they gathered themselves. Varric was the next one up. “You okay, Charmer?” he called as he started to focus Bianca's fire on the smaller threats so Cassandra could focus on the mage. Philippa held up a single finger as she caught her breath, indicating she was all right, she just needed a moment. Cassandra spun, bashing her shield into the mage as he raised his hands to cast again. He stumbled and Cassandra took the second to slash at him with her sword, cutting a gash along his chest. The mage quickly regained his footing, just as Philippa reached out to grip her staff. Cassandra seemed to have the mage in hand, so she drew on her mana and began to attack it's keepers with Varric. Short bursts of fire shot from the ends of her staff as she spun it, charging for a chain lightning. Her back was aching where she had hit the stone wall, her right shoulder throbbing.

She felt Dorian's magic fall over her like a blanket, lending her strength. It meant he was back on his feet, too. She slammed her charged staff into the ground aiming her spell for the nearest threat. Lightning arched through several of the Qunari. A sharp feeling of terror fell over the room and Evelyn realized that Dorian was employing his necromancy, planting nightmares in the minds of their foes. Between him and his Arvaarad, Philippa and the others had a difficult time in flooring the lot of them. The barrier that the discharged Anchor could now create was very useful in blocking a lot of the magic from the supercharged mage. Finally, with great effort, Cassandra beat him across the field and out of range before she cast her smite and the mage dropped, making him vulnerable to her blade.

Targeting the mining platforms, Philippa took the primers to specific locations and set them carefully on the gaatlok barrels. With each explosion, the cavern became more and more unstable. After the second detonation, water began rushing in from the cracked ceiling, filling the seemingly endless depths of the cavern much more quickly that she would have liked. She fought harder around each turn, striking down as many Qunari as she could to get to the next platform. When she had finished planting the fourth and the satisfying BOOM of the explosion rocked the ground, she said, "That's the last one. Now, let's get the bloody Void out of here. We need to warn the others."

"I doubt the oxmen or that rising floodwater will make it easy for us," Dorian pointed out as a group of desperate Qunari headed right for them.

The Qunari were relentless, dogging them the entire way back to the grand staircase where she regretfully found Jerran's body. As they raced up the stairs, the water trying to push them back down again, Philippa panted, glad to be nearly free of the Deep Roads. She chuckled, spitting water from her mouth as it dripped off her bangs. "So, who gets to tell Cullen and Josephine we're probably at war with the Qun? Anyone?"

Varric shrugged. "I'll tell them if you want, but they'll probably think I'm lying."

They reached the overlook where the eluvian sat and she slowed sighing heavily. "They're going to kill me. Don't forget to talk me up at my funeral."

"I'll do my best, Charmer. You give me a lot to work with," Varric chuckled.

Back in their closet at the Palace, Philippa paced back and forth like Cullen had been previously as Leliana snorted. “Dragon's Breath. The Qunari always enjoyed their metaphors.”

“But what does it mean?” Josephine asked shakily.

“Who knows? Qunari agents moving through Eluvians to attack the south is bad enough already.” Cullen said, his stance surprisingly stoic even as his eyes followed her back and forth.

“I still do not understand why they accused the Inquisition of serving Fen'Harel,” Leliana mused, thoughtfully.

Philippa paused briefly. “I've met bloody Mythal. There's no reason that the god of mischief shouldn't still be knocking about in some form or another...” She resumed her pacing.

“What you describe in the ruins certainly implies that the Dread Wolf of elven legend is a real person,” Leliana agreed with a shrug.

“But how does that implicate us?” Josephine asked, her voice rising. “What made them decide that the Inquisition serves this Fen'Harel?”

“Hopefully we will learn more after we have stopped them,” Leliana suggested hopefully.

“Let's see the Exalted Council try to disband the Inquisition after we've saved them from this 'Dragon's Breath',” Cullen said with a sneer.

Leliana shook her head. “We must find out what Dragon's Breath is, first. For now, our only lead is the Qunari leader. The Viddasala...”

The door at the top of the stairs swung open and both Arl Teagan and Duke Cyril barged in. “Gentlemen!” Josephine gasped in unamused surprise.

“My apologies, Lady Josephine,” Duke Cyril said, bowing his head as Teagan pushed past him and barreled to the bottom of the stairs. “There has been an incident with one of your soldiers.”

“How dare you!” Teagan growled, stopping Philippa in her tracks. “It was bad enough that the Inquisition chose not to inform the Exalted Council of the Qunari corpse...”

“Orlais would have been happy to help with the matter,” Duke Cyril stepped in, cutting off Teagan's rage momentarily.

“But now your own guards are attacking servants? You have overstepped your bounds!” Teagan roared.

Philippa felt her fists tightneing, nearly drawing blood with her fingernails as the pulsing mark throbbed in her clenched jaw. “If I'm so keen on taking over Ferelden, Arl Teagan, do you really think I would use soldiers scuffling in Orlais as a way to get my foot in the door?” she growled sarcastically.

Josephine shot her a hard glare. “While the Exalted Council is our foremost priority, the Inquisitor will of course address this matter personally.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Duke Cyril said with a bow. “Orlais stands ready to assist the Inquisition, as always.”

“Secrets and lies,” Teagan spat. “Do you understand why we fear your Inquisition? You act as if you're the solution to every problem. How long before you drag us into another war?”

Philippa's fists relaxed and she took a step backwards. That is exactly what she had unintentionally done. Teagan and Cyril left the room and Philippa rolled her eyes before sullenly following after to see what the problem was with the soldiers.

Out in the courtyard near the tavern, another crowd had gathered. Philippa pushed her way through the throng of bodies and made herself known. “What exactly am I wasting my time with, now?”

One of her soldiers stepped up to salute her. “The Orlesians tried to take one of our people, Inquisitor. We've secured the area,” he reported.

She glanced from him to the elven woman that had originally called her from the Council and then down to a male elf who was sitting on the ground. Before she could find out what happened, a chevalier approached and scolded them in his thick accent. “This is the Winter Palace! You cannot simply seize control when one of _your_ guards attacks a servant!”

The man who had first spoken again interjected. “The Inquisition is handling this. When some noble commits a crime of fashion, you can take over.”

Philippa held up a hand to indicate that he had said enough. “I only asked what he was doing,” the elven woman said with a shrug as the male stood up from the ground.

“And when I refused to bow to the Inquisition's dogs, you attacked me!” he accused.

“How would you like us to handle the situation, Inquisitor?” her soldier asked curtly.

Philippa's heart skipped a beat when she realized what was sitting just beside the servant on the ground. “That barrel there... Where did it come from?” she asked, pointing a shaking hand at the silver barrel.

The servant answered. “I was ordered to bring wine for the guests.”

“You're lyin',” the elven woman accused.

“Your Inquisition soldiers are completely out of control!” the chevalier spat, his arms crossed indignantly.

“No. We're _in_ control. Keep talking, and you'll find yourself in chains,” her soldier threatened. Did Cullen really allow hot heads like this in their ranks? She had been standing there for a good two minutes and she still didn't have a real explanation about what had happened. What she did know, was that the silver barrel filled with gaatlock powder needed to be handled immediately.

“Please take the servant into custody,” Philippa requested, needing to know more about the barrel and how it had gotten there.

“Right away, Your Worship,” her soldier said with another salute and went to do as she asked.

“Inquisitor?” the chevalier asked.

“I promise, once this is handled, Ambassador Montilyet will be happy to explain my decision. In the meantime, I need to have the servant questioned,” she sighed.

“As you say, Inquisitor. Lord Cyril will hear about this,” the chevalier conceded.

When she was alone, the elven woman approached her. “Inquisitor? I also found this by the barrel. I can't read the language.”

Philippa thanked the woman as she accepted the slip of paper with scribbled Qunlat all over it. She turned away, planning to take the note to Bull when she spotted Leliana hovering in the doorway to the temporary smithy. She casually approached the Divine and Leliana smiled warmly at her. “Did you resolve the problem with the guard?”

“That's not what we should be worried about,” she hissed. “Someone smuggled gaatlock barrels into the Winter Palace.”

“Smile Inquisitor, there are many eyes upon us,” Leliana said through her own light expression. “At least now, we know the true extent of the Dragon's Breath.”

“I'm not sure how you are smiling, let alone how I'm expected to do it, too,” Philippa said through gritted teeth, attempting to force her own expression to one that didn't look like she had just found a barrel of explosives in the middle of the Winter Palace.

“Years of training as a bard, Inquisitor. We cannot show weakness now. Enemies could be watching. All we can let them see is idle conversation between two friends.”

Philippa shook her head, not certain how long she could hold the facade. She could already feel the false smile cracking. “So, gaatlock barrels in the Winter Palace. You think that's the plan?”

“Of course. A surprise attack, even through the Eluvians, would have met fierce resistance. But if everyone at the Exalted Council died in an explosion, the South would be rudderless, vulnerable to attack. This is what Corypheus _should_ have done after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. An attack as swift and unstoppable as the breath of a dragon,” Leliana explained with confidence.

Philippa sighed. “There was a note by the barrels. It's the first Qunari note I've found that hasn't been fully translated.”

“Let me see,” Leliana said urgently, holding out a hand. “I picked some up from the Iron Bull, though I'm told my accent is atrocious.” She read over the note, her smile replaced by a frown as she translated. “These are orders for positioning the gaatlock in the palace... 'When duty has been performed, report to the Viddasala through the mirror marked by a bookcase'.”

“Oh! Tea with the Viddasala... and I have nothing to wear,” Philippa quipped as she glanced up at the sky. It was darkening to a deep purple as the sun slowly made it's way toward the horizon, painting it with pinks and oranges, and always, the slash of blue left over from the Breach.

“Good. While you do that, I will have agents locate the gaatlock barrels and remove them safely,” Leliana said, her smile returning. “I will also send word to my foreign contacts. We must see where else this dragon could strike.”


	52. Secrets and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa finds herself in the Fade when the chase to catch the Qunari leader leads her back through the Crossroads. All the while, the Anchor worsens.

No one had a word to say as they made their way through the Crossroads, following another new path that had sprung up since the last time they were there. Philippa's anxiety seemed to be felt through the group. At the top of the path, a small library stood only two bookcases on either side of the wall, but it was enough. There was an eluvian sitting just past the shelves, shimmering and open. "Bookshelves galore... and look! An eluvian. This has to be the one."

On the other side of the eluvian, the library was reflected, though it extended farther than the four shelves they had passed. All over the floors and tables, books and parchment were strewn. The far end of the room had been blasted away and papers flew up and out to flit along with the breeze. "Is this some sort of old elven library?" she mused, her voice carrying oddly on the moist air around them. The architecture, what was left of it at least, was definitely elven.

The air felt still, yet a breeze tickled her hair over her face. All around, things were in the wrong place, picked up, twisted and set back down wherever the Fade saw fit. Broken chunks of rubble and crumbling walls added to the chaos. As she looked around at the hundreds of shelves that moved along the walls and extended into the distance, she ignored the fact that they were in the Fade for the moment, moving to open one of the old and tattered books. The words were all jumbled and mixed up, making the text unreadable. Fade books.

Dorian muttered to himself as he made the same discovery on another table near hers. Leave it to the scholars to ignore the Fade and head straight for the books. They exchanged a smile before he spoke. “It definitely saw a massive magical backlash some time ago.”

That would explain all of the rubble. She had always thought the Fade looked odd, but it had never looked destroyed before. “This mess should make tracking the Qunari leader easy as pie,” Philippa sighed, closing the book she had attempted to read.

Not far along the path leading down from the entrance, they were stopped by an excited spirit. It bounced up and down in the air before her, the echo of a smile filtering across Philippa's awareness. “Visitors! Patrons! Welcome! The halls are open!”

All spirits of the Fade were the embodiment of traits. Philippa knew this was the rule. Even Cole, as human as he had become, had started out as a spirit of compassion. “May I ask your purpose?” she wondered.

Without hesitation, the spirit consented to answer her question. “I am study. I am a learning thirst. Come, know what has not been lost. New words. New stories. The Qunari would not approach, but we learned their words as well. If you wish to exchange knowledge, they congregate by the lower gate.” Papers blew by on the wind as the spirit babbled.

Philippa most certainly wanted an exchange with the Qunari, but not necessarily knowledge. Looking around the ruin of the library, she asked the spirit. “How did this place function before all of this destruction happened? What was it used for?”

“This is the Vir Dirthara.” Philippa felt the spirit reach out it's arms to encompass the area, more than she saw it do so. Mainly it simply hovered, flickering orange and translucent. “The living knowledge of the empire. The libraries of every city. The wisdom of every court. A connecting place whose paths are in disarray.”

“How exactly did it fall into 'disarray'?” Philippa asked, marveling at the implications.

“The Vir Dirthara was made with world and Fade. When they sundered, so did we,” the feminine voice said sadly. “Paths broke. Knowledge fragmented. Many were trapped. I preserve their last words.”

“ 'Last words'? You remember what the last people to stand here said and thought?” she wondered with a gasp.

“ 'What happened? Where are the paths? Where are the paths? Gods save me, the floor is gone. Do not let me fall. Do not let me...' On this spot, that is all.” The words were recited with zero inflection. Simply a statement of fact. It was vaguely reminiscent of when Cole used to recite the passing thoughts of those around him.

Philippa felt a sadness nestle itself in her chest. Those poor elves. “I'm here to find a specific Qunari that they call Viddasala. Have you encountered her, or might you know what she wants in the Vir Dirthara?” Philippa asked.

“Viddasala, yes. She uses scholars and mages for study. They fear this place, but they seek to know the Veil.”

“For what purpose Why does the Veil interest the Qunari?” Philippa wondered. It was a shame the Qunari hadn't approached the spirit. It was rather helpful.

“I regret I do not have more information. I am sundered from myself. If you discover another one of me nearer the Qunari, I may know more. Kindly give it my greetings. I have not thought with myself for some time.” Philippa felt the spirit's longing.

“I can't imagine the millennia of history here,” Philippa mused to herself, her mind racing in excitement. “What I wouldn't give to spend a week here discovering it's secrets...” Coming back after the Qunari were dealt with might not be such a bad idea.

“I will try to recall, honored patron, but there are gaps... breaks...” Apparently the spirit had taken her meaning as she wanted to know then and there. It continued, it's voice strained. “Greetings. Laughter. Emma enasal. Forms out of air. Light. Memories. Aneth ara! So many. Broken paths at every... Missing. Missing. Missing! I cannot! I cannot... There is no more...” Philippa cringed, holding up her palm to assure the spirit that it didn't need to hurt itself, and it sighed heavily. "Apologies. I knew all once. We knew. With the break, only fragments or knowledge new, since the fall."

“I should be the one apologizing,” Philippa said, regretting her carelessness. “We'll leave you be...”

“Know this. An unknown person, not of the Qunari, recently woke the Librarians,” the spirit warned.

“If it wasn't the Qunari, maybe we'll finally get to meet whoever keeps sending spirits at the Qunari. Our agent of Fen'Harel, perhaps?” she wondered.

“The Librarians facilitated learning before the fracture. Before the fall. Now, beware them. They are unwell.” The spirit warned cautiously.

With a nod of thanks for the warning, Philippa smiled one final time at the spirit and passed it to follow the broken path up a tall flight of stone stairs that was mostly intact. When she got high enough to see out over the area, she gasped, spotting Qunari ahead. “There! Qunari! On that...” she tilted her head and her mouth fell open “upside down island?”

Varric growled low in his chest. "Looks like a camp up there. Down there? Shit, this place is weird."

Philippa couldn't help but agree, but she had seen her own brother standing upside down over her head the last time they had walked in the Fade. This somehow didn't seem as odd. The path ahead to the eluvian that likely led to the inverted island above, was broken out beneath them, but Philippa noted one of the over sized Faberge eggs that had built paths in the Crossroads. Sense told her it would do the same here. She reached out and laid her palm on it. The magic reacted and several thin slabs of stone rose from the foggy abyss below to twist and spin until they lined up in a semblance of a floating path, like the garden path in Skyhold. "Well, that looks both sturdy and useful," Philippa said sarcastically.

She approached the stairs that she had replaced and carefully toed them with her boot to make certain they would take her weight. When she pressed down with her foot, she inhaled a deep breath and took the leap of faith, Dorian's hand gripping her arm at the last minute in case she plummeted into space. He followed her across to the landing and she shrugged and headed to the left where she saw an active Eluvian. She passed through the Eluvian and on the other side, while the others were still coming through, she had enough time to see one of the elven metal trees sparking with energy before it licked toward her and exploded the Mark. She whimpered and shook out the sensation as it jabbed pain clear up to her temple. She nearly bit her tongue as she attempted to reign in the magic. Dorian gently gripped her hand, sparking a new agony at his touch, and studied the mark as it glowed brightly. “Did you notice? Your anchor is flaring up near magic. Elven magic.”

She whimpered. “I can cast just fine, but throw in elven magic and my head wants to explode. Why?”

“I'm not sure,” he said regretfully, returning her hand to her with a pat. “Tell us if it gets worse.”

They were in another courtyard surrounded by bookshelves. Above their heads, another section of the library sat upside down, making her dizzy when she looked at it. Two eluvians sat at the tops of two different staircases in opposite corners of the back of the courtyard. Philippa, with her eyes firmly on the ground, headed for the one on her left first. On the other side, another of the trees haloed in licking magic stood and she braced for another jolt that didn't come. Thankfully, she passed the thing and saw a few dead Qunari propped against a wall that might have once been a staircase. She knelt by the nearest body and investigated, only to come up empty. Glancing at the others briefly, she frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd say these Qunari just dropped dead."

"Look at their eyes," Cassandra pointed out with a scowl. "They died in fear."

"Charming," Philippa sighed, getting back to her feet.

Leaving the bodies, she followed the only available path up the former staircase behind them. At the top, hovering in the way of another eluvian, was another piece of Study. "Welcome. Welcome," it said excitedly. "Listen to the last words of those who lived past the fall. 'How could the Dread Wolf cast a Veil between the world that wakes and the world that dreams?' 'The Evanuris will send people. They will save us!' 'When have you last heard from the gods? When the Veil came down, they went silent!' 'What is this Veil? What has Fen'Harel done'?” Just as swiftly as it recited the words, Study disappeared.

Philippa frowned, her head tipping in curiosity. “Let me get this straight. That spirit just remembered that Fen'Harel _created_ the Veil?”

Dorian stepped up beside her. "If it's true, that means the Fade and the waking world were once one in the same."

"Maker's breath," Philippa gasped in awe. How had this knowledge been lost? Through the eluvian that the spirit had been blocking, they found more of the library and a section that looked different than the others. On a table set there, she found some papers that had been left by the Qunari. "I know technical notes when I see them, no matter what language they're in. Can you make anything of these?" Philippa handed the notes to Dorian.

He frowned slightly as his eyes scanned the formulae. "I recognize some formulas. The Qunari are trying to prove theoretical magic of some kind."

He let the page flutter back onto the table and Philippa sighed, wishing she understood Qunlat. Below them, they found another of the artifacts and Philippa activated it. "There go the blocks. Right where we need them."

"Can we trust this magic?" Cassandra asked in concern.

Philippa smiled at her. "Study said this is a place of learning. Ancient magic was more intuitive than the magic of today. The library itself is helping us because this is what we need."

She headed back the way they had come to see about finding another artifact to complete the path. They met a bit of Qunari resistance on the way back, near the corpses they had found, but it seemed the Qunari were so disturbed by the Fade around them that they were not fighting properly. Their hard earned discipline was failing them. Once they had taken care of the threat, Philippa thoughtlessly crossed through the eluvian into the courtyard with the others on her heels. The licking magic from the tree snapped across the room, drug a strangled cry from her throat, and she grabbed her wrist to control her jerking arm. Dorian grabbed her arm as she felt the prickling of the magic spreading and changing the Mark again. He gave her a stony glare when she tried to tug her arm back. He held her fast and pulled her glove off her hand and rolled her sleeve up, making her hiss in discomfort as the extent of the toxicity was revealed to all present. Cassandra gasped in horror. "Inquisitor, we must do something about your hand."

"It's fine," she said softly, pulling her arm from Dorian's grip. "The pain went away."

"It keeps coming back," Varric mumbled softly, having seen the ruin of her arm as well.

Dorian grudgingly handed her glove back and she pulled it back on and readjusted her gear. She steeled herself, swallowing the pain and sadness and pressing forward. She would stop the Viddasala if it was the last thing she did. She couldn't let the inconvenience of her hand get in the way of saving Thedas.

Through the next eluvian, they found more dead Qunari that looked like they had been scared to death, and another piece of Study. “Welcome, and listen to the last words of those who walked this place. 'If we get out of here, I will end Fen'Harel!' 'After he held back the sky to imprison the gods, the Dread Wolf disappeared.' 'Lies! We must tear down the Veil! The cities, the pathways... without magic, they're crumbling!' 'You're wasting your time. Fen'harel's Veil has turned our empire to ruins'.” The spirit recited before disappearing like the last one.

Philippa frowned, focusing her thoughts away from herself and from Cullen where they had suddenly been dragged to at the thought of her dying from the Mark. All of those times she had kept safe for him, and her own hand was going to be the death of her. “So, Abelas was right. The elven empire was destroyed when the Veil came down and weakened the magic they were using as an infrastructure?”

"If what we're hearing is true, this would have been a disaster beyond measure," Cassandra agreed.

“Do you realize what this means? What this place is? The _actual_ history of the elves could change everything!” Dorian gasped in excitement. More proof that Tevinter hadn't destroyed the elves.

Through the Eluvian they stood on the entry way to what had once been a beautiful, golden library. Now it was crumbling and dreary and smelled faintly of moldy paper. As they climbed down the ornate stairs, Evelyn marveled at the construction and the apparent care that had once been put into it. “This is magnificent,” she breathed.

“Look at this place,” Dorian agreed, swiping his finger along the banister and despondently rubbing his fingers together to brush away the dust. “Now that we have so many samples... how hard would it be to build Eluvians of our own?”

Varric snorted. "I knew this one apostate in Kirkwall you would've gotten along with like a house on fire."

“After these past few years, it would just be good to create something magical that is also helpful for a change,” Dorian continued to muse as they walked further into the beautiful setting.

"Is that wise?" Cassandra retorted, ever suspicious of anything new and magical.

Dorian smirked at her. "If I get around to it, I'll send you an Eluvian, Cassandra. Striking women can never be flattered by too many reflections."

Cassandra laughed as if she were torn between amusement and flattery. "If you get around to it, shall I be forced to accept?"

Dorian flapped his hand. "If they're going to stuff me into politics, I've got to have _some_ fun on the side."

Philippa smirked and rolled her eyes before they spread out in the much smaller room that was scattered with papers. Varric picked up a book with a curious expression that quickly turned grumpy. "What the... I never wrote this!" he dropped the book back on the table and Philippa saw it was titled Hard in Hightown, but there was no Chapter number as there normally would be. She crept over to the book after Varric abandoned it and opened to the first page. It was an odd addition to the series where the main character Donnen, a city guard in Kirkwall, had opened a tavern on the Amaranthine Coast. She flipped through the pages of the non existent Hard in Hightown chapter as the pulsing of the mark constantly reminded her 'you're dying...you're dying...you're dying.' She slammed the book shut and grunted. She didn't get very far when Varric spoke again. "You think we could take a couple of these books back with us?"

Dorian sighed, flipping closed whatever he had been reading. "Unfortunately, I don't believe any of these are physical objects. They're ideas. You just see them as books."

Varric sighed in disappointment. "I've never read an elven novel. I wonder what kind of stories they told."

The thought actually made Philippa curious as well, though it was likely she would not live long enough to do any sort of research on the subject. Letting out a reluctant sigh, she dragged herself from the fascinating books and toward the egg in the nearby nook. "That should be enough stairs," she said, watching the ones she lifted head for the last bit of empty space. "Let's see if we can reach the inverted eluvian now."

More Qunari attacked them where they had met the spirit who told them of the last words in that area. Philippa fought with an anger that she had never felt. The Qunari bringing these Eluvians to the Winter Palace and exposing the mark to this magic was the reason the mark had begun to spread again. They deserved to be ripped apart as she was being torn from the inside. A tear fell from her eye as she fought and she swallowed the emotion, shoving it down deep in her gut where it could fester, waiting for the Viddasala.

Back in the courtyard, four flickering spirits seeped from the shelves, their shapes oddly reminiscent of the avatar that the nightmare demon had taken in the Fade at Adamant. The entire room went icy cold and Philippa's heart skipped. " _They're_ the Librarians?" she guessed, her voice choked. One of the translucent creatures shouted angrily, with an eldritch voice, in elven before throwing magic at them.

"Not good!" Varric pointed out, firing a few bolts at it before moving out of the way of the little fear spiders that fell off the bodies of the Librarians.

One of the spirits bolted for Philippa and in a panic, she discharged the Anchor to throw the barrier up around her to protect against it's slashing claws. The charge burst from her palm casting the barrier and slamming outwards, knocking the spirits all back a few paces and killing the chittering spiders. When she had felt the Anchor change, apparently, it had become a grenade that she was the center of. With no time to gawp at her own hand as the spirit recovered, she gripped her staff and stepped into action. Setting off the convenient Mark a few more times allowed them to take down the Librarians with few injuries.

When the last one fell, shrieking, she sighed in relief, leaning heavily in her staff to catch her breath, clutching the fist with the anchor tightly. “Anyone hurt?” she asked.

“No worse than usual, Charmer,” Varric said warily, his eyes studying her. “What about you?”

She chuckled wryly. “Dying slowly... let's go.”

Dorian harrumphed and Cassandra let out one of her patented noises of disgust as Philippa straightened and attempted to open her clenched fist. Back through the eluvian, the eggs had served their purpose, the path to the inverted eluvian completed, in spite of it's heart pounding narrowness. When she stepped through the mirror, her stomach flipped as she came out on the upside down island. There was a brief vertigo following the exit and she shook her head before looking around. They were surrounded. The Qunari that had been on the island all converged around the mirror. Determinedly, Philippa stood her ground and glared at them all, searching for the Viddasala. They stood on a narrow entryway guarded by a rail in front of them that separated it from a rectangular pool of shallow water. A few raised daises spotted both sides of the wide open area, and even more bookshelves were huddled in alcoves between them. From their left, a deep, yet feminine voice spoke. "Survivor of the Breach. Herald of change. Hero of the South."

She turned and saw a Qunari female standing atop one of the daises. She was flanked by a great mountain of a Qunari that paced with caged fury, collared and bound like a Saarebas. She wore Qunari plate armor over top of what they referred to as Antaam-saar, a light set of gear that barely covered her ample features. Her war paint, known as vitaar to the Qunari trailed down her shoulders and arms, lightening her greyish skin. Her horns swept back from her face unlike Bull's that pointed outwards, and she had four instead of two, the smaller ones tucked below the larger. Philippa glared at her. "You must be the Viddasala I've heard so much about... Charmed." Philippa crossed her arms in defiance.

"After fulfilling your purpose at the Breach it is astonishing to hear you still walked free among your people," the Viddasala continued without even responding to Philippa's defiance. "Your duty is done, Inquisitor. It is time to end your magic."

"You mean the Anchor? It closed the Breach and continues to close tears in the Veil. What's so horrible about that?" Philippa countered.

The Viddasala glared, a single brow rising in disbelief. "Is that all it does? Tell me, why hold your hand as if it's begun to pain you?" Philippa relaxed her balled fist, playing aloof. How could she know anything about the Anchor? "I am no stranger to catastrophe, but this chaos in the South defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to curb your own magic. You've amply proven we should have stepped in long ago."

"Is that what Dragon's Breath is for?" Philippa demanded. "You're going to kill all of our 'important people' so you can swoop in and control our magic?"

"Do you believe closing the Breach solved everything, that its consequences stopped there?" The Viddasala asked. "The day we saw the Breach, the Qun decided its action. We would remove your leaders and spare those who toil. This agent of Fen'Harel has disrupted everything. Lives that were to be spared, lost for him!"

"Again with this Agent... Who in the Maker's name is he? I'd love to thank him for drawing our attention to you sneaking around in the Winter Palace... And if he works for me, I probably owe him back pay," Philippa wondered.

The Viddasala waved a hand of dismissal and turned toward the eluvian behind her. "Kill the Inquisitor, then follow me to the Darvaarad." She ordered before passing through the eluvian and taking the giant twitchy saarebas with her.

The remaining Qunari descended upon them and they had to fight their way through the small army while watching out for the magic of the other saarebas that had been left behind. By the end of the fight, Philippa was spent. They had been hours in the Fade and it had already been getting dark before they left. She was exhausted, but she drew herself up and coiled what little mana she had left back into her chest so it could replenish naturally. Another of the pieces of study awaited them on the dais above the fountain. There was no way to reach the Eluvian that the Viddasala had gone through without a ladder, but there was another behind the spirit. It urged them to look around and find more information, so that is what they did. Philippa shuffled around the large camp finding papers and notes strewn all over. They found that they Qunari had translated their letters because they had non Qunari spies posted just about everywhere. She also discovered that the Viddasala had brought the saarebas to this place to research strengthening the Veil. Cassandra decided to search the bodies of the slain Qunari and she discovered a strange stone that hummed with magic on the body of the saarebas. As Philippa took the stone from her and studied it, with Dorian over her shoulder, Cassandra sighed. "Demons, dragons, and even Darkspawn. Now Qunairi. I wonder if we will ever run out of things to fight."

"I'm just pleased it isn't Venatori. For once, Tevinter isn't the problem," Dorian said with a shrug as he continued to look over the stone. It was definitely magical, but neither of them knew what it was. She carefully pocketed it for later and approached the spirit again.

“Can you tell me where the Qunari called the Viddasala went?” Philippa asked gently as the spirit hovered excitedly before her.

“Yes. We heard much, although she fooled herself into thinking we could not hear. 'Take a keystone to the Darvaarad. I will join you there soon, and take stock of our remaining gaatlock powder'.”

Philippa took the stone from her pocket and held it up. “Is this one of the keystones?”

“Yes. And you need words for their key. 'Maraas nehraa'. It glows. It will open the way to the Darvaarad. May you find what you seek. In coming here, you strengthened the paths. I can now raise one if you wish to go.”

“You've been very helpful...uh...” Philippa said as the stones surrounding them lifted up and floated behind the spirit to create a path to the Eluvian.

“Ghil-Dirthalen,” the spirit offered it's name. “was what the elvhen called me. 'One who guides seekers of knowledge true'. I was _connection._ One city could read the records of another, one elvhen feel the memories of another. When the Veil fell upon us, I marked the end of all they knew.” The spirit Faded and Philippa and her people walked the path to the Eluvian. It led them out to where the original study had met them. They went as quickly as Philippa could walk in her weary state. The urgency to get to the Darvaarad and finish this mess pushing her forward with the steady throb of her hand.

She was pacing again, across from the others while they predictably debated and argued. “Your agents confirm there are gaatlock barrels in Denerim's palace?” Josephine asked Leliana.

“Yes, and in Val Royeaux, and across the Free Marches. The Winter Palace is not the only target,” Leliana confirmed with a nod.

The Qunari are one order from destroying every noble house in the known world,” Cullen sighed, his eyes following her with concern. She knew he could tell there was something wrong. At this point it was obvious in her clipped tone and urgency.

“There is a bright side,” Josephine said with mild positivity. “Warning the ambassadors will remind them of the Inquisition's value.”

“Not when the Inquisition is responsible for the threat,” Leliana said, shaking her head.

Philippa nearly crumbled. Leliana was never wrong. “What have you learned?” she asked curtly, maintaining her small nervous circles her fist clenched against the throbbing.

“The elven servant handling the barrels confessed to working for the Qunari,” She explained.

“But the servant was Orlesian,” Josephine said with a frown. “That implicates Orlais, not us.”

“But the barrels arrived at the Winter Palace on the Inquisition's supply manifest.” Leliana continued.

Cullen dropped his gaze and sighed. “How are we supposed to fight a war when we can't even trust our own people?”

“There must be a responsible party. Gaatlock doesn't just appear out of thin air in our possession. Do we know who the culprit is?” Philippa asked.

“Yes," Leliana said excitedly. “Several of the Inquisition's elven workers have gone missing. I had their backgrounds checked. They joined the Inquisition after fleeing the chaos in Kirkwall.”

“I remember when Kirkwall was at it's worst,” Cullen growled. “Many of the city's elves converted to the Qun, trying to find a better life.” Philippa hadn't known much about what happened in the city until the Qunari had finally attacked. Apparently, Cullen had his eye on the situation before that.

“And the Qunari turned them into spies,” Josephine concluded with a gasp.

Philippa stopped pacing and used her throbbing fist to punch the table. She wanted to be reasonable, but she felt like she was running out of time. “A few years ago, we fought the mage rebellion because they were swayed by Corupheus' lies. I very nearly exiled the Grey Wardens because they did something stupid out of fear...” She snorted angrily, shaking her head. “Look at us now... just as blindly corrupt...”

Josephine looked at her angrily. “I fought to protect the Inquisition in this Exalted Council, and for what? So we could deceive and threaten those we claimed to protect?”

“Once we locate the spies...” Cullen said gently, trying to diffuse the situation.

“This isn't _about_ the spies!” Josephine shouted, her voice wavering. She looked first at Leliana and then at Cullen as she accused them loudly. “You hid the Qunari body. You've all but seized control of the Winter Palace!”

“We did what was right, not what was politically convenient!” Cullen shouted back.

“Do you know what his had cost us with Orlais and Ferelden? They are planning to dismantle us as we speak!” Josephine growled. Then she hung her head. “And perhaps they are right...”

Before the argument could go further, the anchor flared, blinding Philippa temporarily as her legs nearly gave out from under her. A ragged cry escaped her throat and she whimpered, grabbing hold of the out of control limb with her opposite arm and hugging it to her chest. Her advisors all rounded the desk, terror in Cullen's eyes. She had hoped to keep the anchor a secret as long as possible while they fought this battle with the Viddasala, but apparently it had other ideas, glowing brightly and sparking momentarily before fading back into the numbing throb that she had become accustomed to. It angered her as her friends, her husband, looked at her with pity and fear. “Shit! Damn it!” she shouted, whirling to punch the wall before turning back to them. “We save Ferelden, and they're angry! We save Orlais, and they're angry! We close the Breach, _twice..._ and my own hand wants to kill me! Could one thing in this fucking world just stay fixed!?” She breathed in and out, her heart racing with her own terror. “I need to get to the Darvaarad. You all can fight amongst yourselves once I'm...” she almost said dead, but the pain on Cullen's face changed her mind and she softened her tone. “Once I'm back,” she finished with a sigh.

Cullen came to her then, wrapping his comforting arms around her. Her heart shattered. She was being so unfair to him. She should have told him about the mark sooner. Now it was too late. There was nothing to be done. She fell into his embrace, barely biting back her tears as she buried her face in his neck. Even after his nearly complete recovery from the Lyrium, he still smelled of petrichor beneath the honeysuckle. She breathed him in, feeling deflated and spent after her outburst. She was tired and broken, but still she would fight. She had to finish this.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Leliana said meekly Philippa looked at her over Cullen's shoulder and her own eyes were glistening.

“Would you... would you like us to inform the Exalted Council of the danger?” Josephine asked, her lip quivering and her eyes wide.

Philippa reluctantly pulled away from Cullen's grasp, momentarily feeling his arms tighten as if he weren't going to let her go. She didn't want to look at his face. It might just break her the rest of the way. Instead, she took hold of his hands and sighed, her eyes pointedly elsewhere. She cleared her throat, swallowing her burning emotions. “Yes. If we fail, the Exalted Council needs to know what happened.”

“I will inform them personally,” Leliana said softly.

“Leliana, I can...” Josephine offered.

“No. Your job is hard enough already. This is my responsibility,” Leliana insisted.

Cullen cleared his throat, his voice shaky when he spoke. “I'll have guards ready at the Eluvian, in case the Qunari attack the palace.”

“Maker watch over you,” Leliana said sadly as Philippa gently squeezed Cullen's hands and then extricated herself to prepare. She had no doubt that he would be one of the guard personally waiting outside the Eluvian for her return. She prayed he would not follow her and try to comfort her. She needed to be strong. She hugged herself as she walked back to where her companions were waiting for her, trying not to cry. This was not the time.

"Phil, wait!" She cringed as his voice called to her, but she stopped, her shoulders slumped, still hugging herself.

He jogged to catch up to her and then put himself in front of her. "Cullen, I..."

"For Andraste's sake, can you just shut up for once?" he asked, his tone choked. She flinched when he reached out and lifted her chin so she was looking at him.

Instead of looking him directly in the eyes and breaking down, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath before releasing it with a plastered on grin. "That's asking a lot, Commander. You know how much I like to be heard."

He grunted, as her eyes met his, steeled against the hurt in his expression. "Well, this time you are going to hear me." He took her upper arms in his hands, squeezing gently. "You _will_ come back. And yes, this time, that _is_ an order. Once this mess had been dealt with, we will figure out what to do about your mark. There are enough bloody mages in Skyhold that at least one of them will find a solution."

Philippa smiled sweetly and nodded, lifting her right hand to brush her thumb over his cheek. He leaned into her touch and it broke her heart to outright lie. "Of course, Cullen."

His chuckle was soft as he placed his hand over hers and turned his mouth to kiss her palm before pulling her against him. "You know, it's suspicious when you're accommodating."

She hugged him more tightly for a brief moment and then forced herself from his arms. "What can I say... I'm short on time... The Viddasala awaits..."

Before he could respond or stop her again, she turned and headed for the eluvian, her smile falling away as soon as he was out of sight.


	53. An End of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The official story ends here, but there is still more to tell in Philippa's future.

Finally, she rejoined her crew and they passed into the eluvian, stepping into the Crossroads. "Nightingale told us what happened with your hand," Varric said quietly after they reached the other side.

She cleared her throat, swallowing tears before reapplying her fake smile. "We all knew this was probably our last time out together. Let's make it a good one," she said shakily.

Dorian huffed, but allowed her to say her goodbye. "Enjoy me while you can," he chuckled. "I expect you'll all miss me terribly later."

"Thank you..." Cassandra said sadly. "All of you." She looked pointedly at Varric.

Varric cleared his throat and pulled his crossbow free. "All right, Bianca. Let's show all the tall people how it's done, one last time."

Philippa shook her head with a snort, shaking off the fear nestled in her gut, and pulled the keystone from her pocket so she could follow the humming glow to the eluvian it unlocked. "The Darvaarad. All right, let's go kick some Qunari ass." She spoke the words that the spirit had given her, and the mirror burst to life. She put the keystone away and stepped through. On the other side, they were spilled onto the approach to a huge fortress. From what she could see in the darkness that had settled around the world, they were definitely in Qunari territory. Massive statues of almost naked Qunari dotted the keep amongst the ivy and other greenery that trailed up the side of the building. The air was humid, drawing sweat to her brow almost immediately as she gazed around at the collection of shattered eluvians piled up around them. "Look at this place! It's an eluvian graveyard! Where did they get all of these?" she gasped in amazement at the piles of shattered glass. "How long have they been studying eluvians?" She picked her way through the clear, narrow path through the broken glass and bent frames. "The sooner we stop this invasion plan, the better."

Glass crunched under Philippa's boots inevitably announcing their presence to a group of Qunari a short distance away on the opposite side of the crossing. As a saarebas littered the area with lightning bolts that burned her nostrils as they created scorch marks wherever they struck, she discharged the anchor to protect herself and the others temporarily. The charge of the mark was coming faster now. Nearly filling up her senses with a grinding overabundance of power that was getting more difficult to keep in check.

Once they'd fought their way through, she began jogging to cross the bridge. Midway across the anchor flared again almost tripping her and dropping her to her knees. She only maintained her balance with Dorian's help. “Oh, shit. That... can't be good. You all right?” Varric asked urgently.

“No,” she said past a lump in her throat. "We should hurry."

Ahead, Philippa saw more Qunari running to greet them and used her magic to explode some gaatlock barrels as they ran past, killing the aggressors. To break the silence that followed, Cassandra asked the same question that Philippa had been turning over in her head. "Why are the Qunari calling this plan 'Dragon's Breath'? What do dragons have to do with assassinating heads of state? I don't understand any of this."

Philippa sighed. "Leliana seems to think its a metaphor. From my experience with the Qunari, they are usually much more literal. Like, 'a dragon in their Darvaraad' literal."

"One way to find out, Charmer. Maybe you can tame it like you did Blue," Varric chuckled.

"I'll be lucky to tame my own hand at this point," she joked half-heartedly.

"Patrolling guards," Cassandra pointed out, stopping her at the top of a flight of stairs and pointing to the courtyard ahead. "We need to deal with them as quickly as possible."

"Varric?" she suggested.

"On it," he said with a wink, disappearing for five minutes and returning with a key to the guardhouse.

At the guard tower, there was a huge door that reminded her of the one in the Circle that had housed the phylacteries of all the mages. She and Dorian put their heads together to figure out how the three wheels worked. When she turned the first one in the middle, a large thick metal shaft lifted to unblock the top of the door. "That's it! Get them all like that and we're in!" Varric said excitedly.

She turned it three times and the bar lifted free. When she turned the mechanism on the far right, the right bar moved to the side, but it dragged the left bar further over the door. She turned it so the right bar was free and then Dorian turned the left mechanism. It fixed the left bar, but pulled the top one back down. She urged him to continue until the left bar was free and then she turned the middle one again, lifting the locks all free. “Bloody puzzles,” she said, immediately leaving the gatehouse and rushing forward. Inside they found the Qunari's barracks, full of soldiers. Philippa took the opportunity to explode some more gaatlock. The Qunari really should have been more careful in where they stored that stuff. Every barrel she found, she either dismantled or used it against them.

Down the stairs from the barracks, the Anchor flared again, blurring her vision. "Stay with us," Cassandra encouraged as her hand fell on her shoulder.

Through gritted teeth, Philippa nodded and pushed forward through another group of angry Qunari that were guarding a large area that looked like it had once been a prison. Now it housed any number of magical artifacts and tomes. "You know, the Qunari sacked Kirkwall over just one book, and here we've got... hundreds. What are all these? Research? Lists of the stuff they've dug up? Recipes for blackpowder, maybe?"

Philippa closed the tome she had been flipping through and dropped it back on the desk where she'd found it. "This is about the eluvians. Opening them requires a key. Sometimes it's literal, like the keystone for the Darvarrad, but other times, like with the Well in Mythal's temple, it unlocks with knowledge or power. They're stockpiling everything they can in hopes of unlocking all those mirrors we saw on the way in."

"They will have defenses in place. We must not stumble into anything blindly," Cassandra warned as they continued from the room and down the hall. She paused. "Is that a copy of _Swords and Shields_?" Philippa snorted.

At the end of the hall past the dungeons, a huge wooden doorway opened into what looked like it might have been kitchens at one point. It was currently storing mass amounts of gaatlock. There were only a few Qunari at the far end of the room and they hadn't heard them enter. Philippa crouched down and saw that the Qunari had good reason to be distracted. Through a window on the other side of the room, Philippa saw a huge dragon bound and chained, being tortured by the Qunari. She gasped. “I bloody called that, didn't I?”

At her exclamation, one of the Qunari turned. “Teth a! Bas!” he shouted.

From a door above, the Viddasala came running to stare down at Philippa. "Inquisition! Nehraa Ataashi-asaara meravas adim kata!" As her soldiers bore down on Philippa and her people, she said, "You have come far enough, Inquisitor. No more."

When the Viddasala fled and the rest of the Qunari attacked, Philippa decided to use the mark again. She swiftly dodged out of striking range of a large hammer wielded by an even larger warrior. Then she took a knee right beside some gaatlok barrels. The Anchor's explosion set off a chain reaction in the entire factory, popping gaatlok barrels open and destroying the Qunari with their own fire. "Everyone all right?" she choked around the smoke filling the room. The barrier had come up as she had planned and protected her people from the explosions. With positive nods from all around, she grinned. "Let's go get the bitch!"

The Viddasala was in the chamber with the dragon, trying to simultaneously protect it from them, and keep it from mauling her people. Jets of poison burst from it's nostrils and throat every few minutes, but Phiippa could tell that the dragon was loosing it's will. Philippa quickly scanned the room and the trap that the dragon was in and she growled as the Viddasala shouted at her. "We will not let you cut down the ataashi!"

"Don't worry!" Philippa shouted back. "I wasn't planning on it!" She darted across the ledge above the pit where the dragon was and grabbed hold of a crank. The dragon was contained by a ring of flames that spurted from the ground on tracks of metal tubing strong enough to withstand the heat. Around the room, there were several cranks like the one she grabbed, spinning fire around the tracks as the dragon moved. “Distract her, _Don't_ kill her!” Philippa ordered just before a Qunari grabbed her and tugged her from the crank. Philippa cast at the Qunari, knocking him down with a stone fist and then bashing his head with her staff. She stepped over his body and began to painstakingly turn the wheel. It caught at a quarter turn and she growled in frustration and noticed there was debris blocking it's path. She vaulted over the wall and dropped into the pit with the dragon. Luckily it's back was to her and she raced to the obstruction. There was no way she could lift the heavy planks and barrels that sat in the path of the tracks.

“Phil, are you mad! What are you doing?” Dorian cried out as he noticed her down there.

“Stay back!” she called, preparing to discharge the anchor. “Keep her off my ass!” As it was, Philippa had to roll out of the way as the dragon swiped her tail near where she stood.

A stream of Tevinter curses echoed through the room as Dorian began to shout at the dragon, throwing small bolts of energy from his palms to grab her attention. Philippa discharged the mark and the debris thankfully was thrown from the tracks. She sprinted away from the battle, her lungs burning as she breathed in some of the dragon's poison breath. Back on the platform, she rushed to the wheel that had been obstructed and began to turn it again. The flames blessedly rotated, piling up on each other on the platform side of the room, leaving the dragon a path out. Philippa left the platform again and Fade stepped across the chaos of the pit to a lever by the barred doorway. She lifted it up, putting her back into lifting the heavy door. The bottom half of the door slid into the floor and Philippa spotted another lever on the opposite side of the door. She Fade stepped again and did the same as the opposite side. The top of the door lifted with a clatter. The dragon spun and realized she was free. She roared loudly, stomping on a Qunari as she spun her huge body and bounded for the open door. Philippa pressed herself against the wall to get out of the way of the great wings as they unfurled. Terrified Qunari fled out the door and Philippa peered around the opening to see what was happening. The dragon grabbed up two of the Qunari in her front claws as she took off into the sky, dropping them to splat on the battlement right in front of another group of Qunari who hovered before an eluvian with the Viddasala and her pet saarebas.

Philippa happily watched the dragon fly off and then with her people right behind her, dashed off across the battlement. The Viddasala shouted. “Parshaara!” The Qunari surrounding her all pointed their spears at her and she stopped dead in her tracks, scowling at the woman, her stomach flipping. She didn't get a chance to be angry as her mark began to spark and burn, her hand jutting out before her and shaking uncontrollably. She gritted her teeth against the agony as the Viddasala tsked. “Dear Inquisitor, you have such little time left. You must finally see the truth. Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen'Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world as well.”

“Are you really going to lecture me on right and wrong when you're planning mass assassination? That's some nerve you have, Viddasala!” Philippa shouted through gritted teeth.

“The South was poisoned by these elves' manipulations. It suffers just as you do now. You would have died from the mark on your hand, but for the help of one of their chief agents,” the Viddasala said by way of explanation. As she spoke her men began to disperse, all going through the eluvian one at a time. “The same agent who helped seal the Breach. Who led you to Skyhold. Who gave Corypheus the orb, then founded the Inquisition. Solas... agent of Fen'Harel.”

"What?!" Cassandra barked angrily.

"I knew..." Philippa growled. "That bastard was always so smug! I bloody knew he was up to no good. Dammit!"

"Solas tricked us all. _He_ pushed a dying Qunari into the Winter Palace, to lure you into opposing us. Without him, we would have brought the South peace and wisdom along the gentle path. Now we must take the way of blades.” The anchor flared again and only the Viddasala and the saarebas were left. Philippa was jerked to her knees and she clutched her arm, a whimper escaping her throat. The Viddasala nodded. “Panahedan, Inquisitor. If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you.”

As Philippa felt the pain fading, she gulped in a breath and the Viddasala and her pet left through the Eluvian. Her heart was racing and panic setting in. She didn't have long. Dorian knelt beside her, his hand on her back. “Solas is the only one who can help with my mark...” she used her staff to crawl to her feet. “We find him before Viddasala does.”

It was a spark of hope that pushed her ahead. Perhaps she could save this yet. She was livid. She had known, deep in her gut, that she hadn't trusted Solas, no matter how much he claimed to respect her. He had been playing them all along. She picked up speed as the flare up receded briefly.

Through the eluvian, was an overgrown path through what looked like elven ruins. She was about tired of looking at elven architecture. She didn't stop to survey the scenery as she began to climb the staircase. At a flooded landing in the middle of the stairs, the mark took on a mind of it's own, nearly yanking her arm from it's socket, she yanked it back towards her and dropped to her knees with a shouted warning. “It's going to... Everyone back!” The mark exploded with a pulse of overcharged magic, knocking her friends away from her and sparking currents of pain on every nerve ending in her body. It seemed she could no longer contain it when it over flowed. She would need to keep a closer eye on it. She dragged herself to her feet.

Cassandra rushed to her side to help her up. "If it keeps up like this, it will kill you. Solas must help, as he did at Haven."

"Chuckles, who apparently works for Fen'Harel. It's always the quiet ones..." Varric grumbled.

Further along the path, they came across another Eluvian guarded by Qunari. Apparently the Viddasala was going to place her entire army between Philippa and herself. Philippa was weak and tired, stretched thin, but when the anchor nearly melted down again, she was able to catch it before hand with a controlled discharge that took a lot of her strength, but it hurt less and she was able to keep if from damaging her friends. The Qunari, on the other hand, never stood a chance.

Through the eluvian, they emerged in a gully that was part of the same ruins. It seemed they were passing through an entire city from the size of the rubble around them. They caught the tail end of the Viddasala issuing orders to the soldiers before passing through another eluvian ahead with her ridiculously large saarebas in tow. Philippa wondered just how much lyrium she had been feeding that thing to make it grow so large. There was no way it's size was natural. Philippa crouched down and discharged the anchor as the saarebas disappeared after his master. Philippa gave chase, smoking Qunari bodies all around her. She would kill them all to get to Solas if that was how the Viddasala wanted it. Across an impossibly long bridge she followed the Qunari. Dorian watched her warily, and it made her slow, realizing that she was allowing her emotions to control her. Her life had been going so well recently, that when her happiness was threatened, she lashed out, allowing her baser instincts to take over. She drew in a breath and let it out, gripping her staff and remembering the phrase etched into the shaft. _Best. Not base._

They were assaulted by hundreds of Qunari along the way and with the help from the mark, Philippa grudgingly decimated their ranks. She may not be allowing her anger to rule her, but she was damned if she was going to give up and allow them to kill her. Nothing was going to stop her finding Solas. Through the Eluvian at the end of the bridge, Philippa heard the Viddasala issuing orders. “Saarebas! Meravas adim kata!”

The massive mage leapt from where he was perched, magic swirling all around him as he cast on his way down. When he hit the ground, the blast of magic knocked them all backwards. Philippa landed hard, skidding through the dirt and stopping when her head connected with a toppled arch. Her vision swam and she had no time to get back up before the anchor had a meltdown. Luckily for her, Saarebas had charged directly for her. She cried out as she was lifted from the ground with the force of the magic as huge sparks of Fade magic arched from her palm, striking anything in their path and setting small fires around the courtyard. The anchor exploded with a crack and saarebas was caught in the radius. When the magic faded, she dropped out of the air and her ankle twisted as she hit the ground. Rolling to take the pressure from the limb, she fell in a heap on her side. Cassandra was on the Saarebas in seconds, bashing it in the face with her shield and swiping with her sword. It had some protection with the giant collar around its neck. The sound rang out across the field, shocking Philippa from her stupor. Her shoulder twinged like it had been dislocated again, and her ankle was definitely broken. She planted her staff with her good arm and pulled herself to her feet with her good leg. Placing all of her weight on the ankle that was not lacing agony through her body, she began to cast, helping the others as best she could while short an arm. Casting was difficult without all of your fingers. Dorian was holding off the rest of the Qunari that were guarding the Viddasala's escape and Varric shot bolt after bolt at them all, taking them down as quickly as he could. The anchor began to protest again and she leaned heavily on her staff to draw the magic inward to discharge it with focus in the direction of the Saarebas. Philippa felt herself flagging as blood leaked from the wound in the back of her head. She managed to shout before she dropped back to her knees. Dorian was at her side in seconds as Varric took over holding back the masses. “Please tell me you have a healing draught,” she whimpered as he knelt beside her, his barrier caressing over her skin. She didn't have it in her to even attempt a healing spell.

He fiddled on his belt and came back with one of the red potions. “Where are you hurt?”

She snorted, “Everywhere. My nerve endings are on fire.”

He pressed his lips together and glanced around to check their perimeter to be sure they were still alone. “That's not what I meant,” he said gruffly, his mustache twitching in irritation.

She sighed. “Take your pick. My ankle's broken, my shoulder is out of the socket and I smacked my head on that stone.”

When he turned his head once more to check the progress of the battle, she saw he was bleeding as well from a gash near his left ear. They were all pretty banged up now that she was looking. His right eye was slightly puffy and he was breathing heavily as if it was hurting him to do so. Cassandra had several open wounds and burns at weak points in her armor. Varric was limping slightly and his blonde hair was matted with blood at the back of his neck. “Hold still,” Dorian advised as his hands glowed a soft blue and he drew on his healing magic. “I'll patch you up and then you can take the potion.”

“What about you and the others?” she worried.

He smiled sweetly and knuckled her chin. “We're all still standing, sweetheart.”

She nodded. “Hurry. I don't know how long before the anchor melts down again. I'll need to discharge it soon.”

He ran expert hands over her ankle, painfully grinding the bone back into place as soothing healing magic helped her muscles to realign and the tears to knit together. She breathed a sigh of relief as he tended to her head next. “Luckily your skull wasn't cracked,” he mused, glancing around again, his barrier reinforcing itself. The skin knitted itself together and the trickling of blood stopped tickling her neck. Finally, he moved to her shoulder. “I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to bite down on,” he said apologetically.

“Just hurry,” she warned. “I can feel it building up.”

He pressed his opposite hand on her chest and took hold of the joint, feeling for the dislocation. She hissed in pain as he squeezed and then he counted slowly to three before wrenching the shoulder forward. She felt the ball pop back into place and she sighed in relief as he laid some more healing into the shoulder. “Now take the potion, and do be careful.”

“Thank you,” she said, uncorking the bottle with shaky fingers and gulping down the elfroot potion.

Immediately, she stood and focused her energy on discharging the anchor. Saarebas was the only Qunari left in the courtyard and he was surrounded by Cass and Varric. She slammed the anchor's energy into him and he roared as best he could with his sewn lips. He gripped his collar with both hands and physically ripped the metal in two. “It seems the Saarebas is no longer following orders,” Dorian said as the giant turned and ran toward where the Viddasala had disappeared.

“We need to go after him,” Philippa insisted, a small limp still present in her gait, but her ankle feeling much better after Dorian's careful ministrations.

“Are you sure you're okay, Charmer?” Varric asked.

“As good as I'm going to get,” she remarked, not stopping. She needed to end this before she couldn't.

The Viddasala was almost out of soldiers. When Philippa caught up with her, she shouted as she followed the last of her people through an Eluvian. “You are dead, Inquisitor! Your soul is dust!”

The Saarebas dropped in from the sky, knocking them all back again. Philippa and Cassandra collided as they stumbled back, falling in a pile. As they attempted to unravel themselves, the saarebas charged them. Philippa cursed and the magic of the mark began to swirl around her. She couldn't think of anything else to do, so she grabbed hold of Cassandra's hand and threw up her opposite hand to discharge the mark. It pushed the mage back, and Philippa got to her feet, helping Cassandra up as well. “I'm fine,” Cassandra nodded with Philippa's questioning look.

They all fought against the giant Qunari in tandem. The fight went on for ages it seemed, draining her of all of the stamina she had left. He was strong and his magic was unlike anything Philippa had ever seen, but they managed to finally get him onto his knees. With one last blast from the Anchor, the mage fell and all of the magic crackling around the field went silent.

Desperate to catch up with the Viddasala, Philippa got to her feet and darted for the mirror. It closed behind her and she immediately spun to pound on the glass. Alone, she forced herself to turn, her heart racing. She jumped back as a Qunari loomed over her, his spear raised above his head. She had the blade on her staff to his throat before she realized he was made of stone. She tapped the blade curiously to the statue before laying her hand on it. It was warm to the touch, and her stomach sank, realizing that this was no statue, but an actual Qunari that had been petrified. At second glance, the entire area was filled with petrified Qunari. They were laid out in a pattern like a choreographed dance. She could almost picture the fight as the mage that had done this had used impressive footwork to cast his spells to land these Qunari in each position. She followed the pattern, dancing through the Qunari herself and as she moved, the realization hit her. She recognized the footwork. His abilities had increased significantly since she had seen him last to have single-handedly taken all of these Qunari out. Or he had been holding back. So much information had passed through her brain since the morning that Philippa had not had time to process it through the jumble of emotions that had accompanied it. As she spun and stepped through the Qunari and recognized the footwork, her thoughts coalesced into a single truth that made her stomach flip.

She darted ahead as his voice sounded above the quiet all around. "Ebasit kata. Itwa-ost."

The Viddasala spoke next. "Maraas kata!"

"Your forces have failed. Leave now, and tell the Qunari to trouble me no further." Philippa crested the stairs in time to see Solas walking away from the Viddasala toward an enormous eluvian.

The Viddasala lifted her spear, aiming to chuck it at Solas, a disgusted grunt escaping her lips as she did so. Solas stopped walking and without turning to look at her, she turned to stone, just like the others. After a brief moment, he continued toward the eluvian. "Solas!" Philippa called after him, making him stop in his tracks.

He turned as she approached him, but the Anchor flared and dragged her to her knees before she could speak to him. His eyes flashed with white-blue magic and the Anchor ceased it's fit. Philippa's arm immediately felt normal again. As she stood, she studied him and wondered if her theory could possibly be true. He wore shimmering golden armor resembling the gear that Abelas and the rest of the sentinels at Mythal's temple had worn. Draped over his right shoulder was a wolfskin. He still held the same haughty expression and still stood with his back rigid and his hands clasped behind him. "That should give us more time," he said with a half smile. "I suspect you have questions." His statement didn't give her much hope that he had completely healed her.

Philippa bit her lip. "I think I may have just answered the most pressing one myself. You're Fen'Harel, aren't you?"

Solas seemed impressed by her deduction. "Well done," he congratulated her. "I was Solas first. 'Fen'Harel' came later... an insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies... not unlike 'Inquisitor', I suppose. You also know the burden of a title that all but replaces your name."

Hesitantly, she looked him over. "Are you like Mythal? A piece of the Dread Wolf carried through time?"

"No," he said with a slight snicker. "This is all I have ever been."

"What about the legends?" she asked in wonder. Her curiosity was outweighing her anger for the moment.

He sighed heavily. "I sought to set my people free from slavery to would be gods. I broke the chains of all who wished to join me." She followed him to the edge of the cliff they stood on to over look the rest of the sprawling ruin. "The false gods called me Fen'Harel, and when they finally went too far, I formed the Veil and banished them forever. Thus I freed the elven people and, in so doing, destroyed their world."

He sounded sad, his head hanging in regret. "But the Fade was everything to the elves. To you," she pointed out. "Why create the Veil?"

He looked at her, his expression devastated. "Because every alternative was worse."

She arched a brow. "What the bloody Void does that mean?"

"Had I not created the Veil, the Evanuris would have destroyed the _entire_ world," he explained. So he had destroyed the elves' world to save the rest of Thedas?

"Abelas was right. The Tevinters scavenged what was left of the world of the elves after the Veil came down and sundered the magic," she breathed.

Solas nodded. "You saw the remains of Vir Dirthara. The Library was intrinsically tied to the Fade, and the Veil destroyed it. There were countless other marvels, all dependent on the presence of the Fade, all destroyed. The elven legends of immortality? All true. It was not the arrival of humans that caused them to begin aging. It was me. The Veil took everything from the elves, even themselves."

"If you knew what would happen, why not just kill the Evanuris instead?" As the memory of the pain in her hand faded, the more her thoughts began to race with questions.

"You met Mythal, did you not? The first of my people do not die so easily. The Evanuris are banished forever, paying the ultimate price for their misdeeds."

"Those misdeeds must have been pretty awful if you sacrificed so much to lock them away..." she suggested, crossing her arms.

"They killed Mythal," he chuckled wryly. "A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment."

"But Mythal was one of them... and she's obviously not dead..." she said with a frown.

"She was the best of them," he agreed with a smile. "She cared for her people. She protected them. She was a voice of reason. And in their lust for power, they killed her."

"And how exactly did the Evanuris get from being ordinary elven mages to being 'gods'?"

"Slowly. It started with a war. War breeds fear. Fear breeds a desire for simplicity. Good and evil. Right and wrong. Chains of command. After the war ended, generals became respected elders, then kings, and finally gods. The Evanuris."

Philippa nodded in understanding. That was how she had become the Herald after all. "Alright. So, now that I understand, what is going to happen?" Solas had disappeared for a reason. She despised not knowing that reason.

He turned his face from her, not allowing her a glimpse of his expression. "I lay in dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages passed. I woke, still weak, a year before I joined you. My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down, but still some hope remains for restoration,” he explained, his arms encompassing the beautiful architecture that was still standing around them. “I will save the elven people, even if it means _this_ world must die."

Her heart flipped over and she approached his back. "Like the Void it does, Solas. There is always another way. Haven't you bloody considered that?" The only thing that stopped her from reaching for her staff was what he had done to the Viddasala with a thought.

"A good question, but not one I will answer," he said solemnly. "You have always shown a thoughtfulness I respected. It would be too easy to tell you too much. I am not Corypheus. I take no joy in this. But the return of my people means the end of yours. It is my fight." He turned and looked at her finally, his plastered smile back on his face. "You should be more concerned about the Inquisition. Your Inquisition. In stopping the Dragon's Breath, you have prevented an invasion by Qunari forces. With luck, they will return their focus to Tevinter. That should give you a few years of relative peace."

She crossed her arms. "According to the Qunari, we've been working for you this whole bloody time..." she growled in accusation.

He looked at her with amusement. "I gave no orders."

" _You_ led us to Skyhold," she pointed out, angrily.

He sighed. "Corypheus should have died unlocking my orb. When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos. When you survived, I saw the Inquisition as the best hope this world had of stopping him. And you needed a home. Hence, Skyhold."

"Why exactly _did_ you give your orb to the arsehole anyway?" she asked in disappointment.

"Not directly." he shook his head. "My agents allowed the Venatori to locate it. The orb had built up magical energy while I lay unconscious for millennia. I was not powerful enough to open it. The plan was for Corypheus to unlock it, and for the resulting explosion to kill him. Then I would claim the orb. I did not foresee a Tevinter Magister having learned the secret of effective immortality."

She narrowed her eyes. "And if all your wildest dreams had come true, what then?"

"I would have entered the Fade, using the mark you now bear. Then I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time... The world of the elves," he said unfeelingly.

She frowned. "Why go through all the trouble and destruction to put up the Veil when you were just going to wait a millennia and rip it back down again? Won't that free the Evanuris?" she wondered.

"I had plans," he shrugged languidly.

"And your plans include murdering every living being in Thedas?" she asked in horror.

"Wouldn't you, to save your own?" he asked with a tip of his head. "You must understand. I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people's conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil."

"Maker's breath, you don't even see us as people?" she growled angrily.

"Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong... again. That does not make what must come next any easier," he sighed.

Her feelings about him were finally realized. She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Yeah sure, thanks for the castle, by the way."

He returned her glare. "For whatever it's worth, you used it well."

"I have to ask. What exactly is wrong with the Inquisition?" he had said she should be concerned, so here she was being concerned.

"You created a powerful organization, and now it suffers the inevitable fate of such. Betrayal and corruption."

"You make it sound like you knew this would happen all along," she growled.

"Do you know how I discovered the Qunari plot? The plot I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep?" he asked as if she should be grateful. "The Qunari spies in the Inquisition tripped over _my_ spies in the Inquisition. The elven guard who led you to the Qunari body, who intercepted the servant with the gaatlok barrel? Mine."

She sneered. "Why even bother? That would have been a few less bodies on you conscience."

"You have shown me that there is value in this world, Inquisitor. I take no joy in what I must do. Until that day comes, I would see those recovering from the Breach free of the Qun," he said with a sigh.

"Why?" she asked with a glare.

"Because I am not a monster. If they must die, I would rather they die in comfort. In any event it is done," he shrugged.

Her anger was flaring again. "You didn't want to deal with the Qunari so you made sure we stopped them? Brilliant."

"The mistake was yours to fix, Inquisitor," he accused.

As he insulted her yet again, the tingle of the Anchor started to make itself known. Dropping all care for anything else besides her own survival, she said, "There's still the matter of the Anchor. It's getting worse."

"Yes, I'm sorry. And we are almost out of time," he agreed as the full flare up of magic descended on her again, the flash of agony almost too much for her senses. It rocketed up her arm, past her jaw and into her skull, blinding and deafening her so she couldn't hear her own cry of distress. Every nerve in her left side went numb before exploding in a stabbing pain like fiery needles piercing her flesh. She was on her knees, screaming and clutching her arm as her vision wavered, threatening her consciousness. Solas knelt before her speaking calmly. "The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you... at least for now."

She looked up at him and through gritted teeth, she said, "If I live... I'm coming to stop you."

He stood slowly, his expression riddled with regret. "I know." He held out his hand to her. "Take my hand." She reached out with the anchor, resting her fist in his hand. The magic shot up and down her arm, the ringing in her ears and the throbbing of her jaw numbing her mind. Solas pulled her arm out to the side and she almost didn't hear his whispered apology. He lifted his free hand, his fingers casting. Then he balled it into a fist and her hand went numb again. He gave her one last sorrowful look and said, “Live well, while time remains.”

She sat on her knees, her feet beneath her going as numb as her arm while she stared at the eluvian he had disappeared through and closed behind him. Shock at all of the revelations she had come across in the last few minutes froze her to the spot. She was unaware of how long she might have sat there, but she was vaguely aware of a prickling sensation at the tips of her fingers on her marked hand. She finally broke from her stupor to glance down at the prickling that was climbing from her fingers to her hand. She pulled off her glove, and when she saw what was happening, hysterical laughter bred from exhaustion bubbled from her lips. "Well, that's going to be a problem." She sighed and lowered her head, unsure where to go from there.

The numbness in her arm kept her from feeling the pain as the flakes of her petrified flesh started to slough off slowly, drifting away in the light breeze that passed by her. Soon the limb slipped from it's resting place, her hand no longer there to hold it in place. Right after that happened, voices reached her from somewhere below. "Maker knows how far she got."

"In her state, it's likely not far," Dorian answered Cassandra's gruff tone.

"Over here," she called, getting slowly to her feet and stumbling.

When they spotted her, Dorian rushed to her side as she stumbled again. She fell against him and he cursed in Tevene. "Where is that bastard... I'll flay him myself!"

"There's no point," Philippa sighed, leaning heavily on her friend. "I'll..." she cleared her throat. "I'll be fine..." _In spite of the fact that my arm is slowly flaking away._

Dorian examined what was happening to her arm, slowly rolling up her sleeve to see how far it would spread. Then he muttered more curses. "You will most certainly _not_ be fine," he grumbled. How do you expect to cast prop..."

"Just..." She swallowed. "I don't want to think about it... Please just... Can I lean on you?"

"Of course," Dorian said softly, shifting so he supported her on the right, leaving her left arm to dangle by her side, still numb.

It was a long walk back to the Winter Palace and she tried to pass the time by telling a few details about her conversation with Solas. By the time Solas' magic slowed, her arm was gone to just below the elbow. With the spell went the numbness, and her body came around to the shock of losing one of it's limbs. Her arm was aching, but that was nothing compared to the horrible jolts of blinding, mind numbing, pain that had come with the anchor melting down. She would probably never cast another proper spell again, but there were other ways to use her magic, and she was alive. She would see Cullen again, feel him hold her. That was worth her magic. She buckled, dropping against Dorian and causing him to stumble. Cassandra swiftly stepped in to help support her as Dorian summoned a small amount of healing magic to keep her on her feet. "We're almost there," he mumbled soothingly.

She shut down her mind, letting her feet carry her, guided by her companions. The next thing she knew, the cool touch of the Crossroads brought her back to herself and they were nearing the eluvian that would put them back in the Winter Palace. When they stumbled through, they were greeted by the eluvian guards, Cullen at their head. His eyes widened in outrage as he took in her appearance. Dorian shuffled her over to him and out of the corner of his mouth ordered one of the guards to fetch Vivienne. “What happened?” Cullen shouted as she pushed away from Dorian and fell into his arms. He carefully avoided touching her arm as he tucked her under his own strong arms.

“It's a really long story,” she said softly, her eyes fluttering as she leaned against his warm body.

“Maker's breath,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms, lifting her feet from the ground as she swayed and her knees buckled.

When she woke, she was lying in a bed in a room that was so lavishly decorated that she knew she had made it back to the Winter Palace. Her head was fuzzy, and she barely remembered the journey back. She blinked and looked around the room, her eyes falling on the chair beside the bed, occupied by a dozing Cullen. She felt her lips draw back in a smile. The man even napped like he needed to be in control. His back was stiff against the back of the chair, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed, but his head not drooping. The only sign that he had been there for some time was the stray lock of hair that had separated from the rest of his gentle waves to hang over his forehead. She remembered another time he had sat in vigil over her like that. Their trip to the lake where she had fallen in and he had rescued her.

"Sleeping in the middle of the day, Commander. You've gotten lazy," she mumbled through her smile, reaching to touch his arm lightly.

One of his eyes opened and he studied her briefly before slouching a bit in his chair and closing his eyes to lean his head back against the padded seat. His own mouth quirked up in a teasing grin. "I'll have you know it's barely morning, and I've been up worrying all night."

"I'll assume you demanded answers," she teased. "Did the others explain what happened?" she asked, propping herself up on her right elbow.

“Only fragments,” he admitted opening his eyes again to slide them over her as he sat forward. “Only you know everything that transpired with Solas on the other side of that mirror. They tell me that losing your arm was the only way to save your life?”

She glanced down at the bandaged stump at the end of her arm and sighed. “The anchor was ripping me apart. The elven magics in the Vir Dirthara and those ruins simply sped up the process,” she admitted. “Solas... Fen'Harel... whoever he is... said no one should have survived besides him. I only did because he helped me in Haven.”

Cullen's eyes flicked up and down her again, his smile still present and slipping into devious. "Well, I for one, am glad you didn't insult him enough that he decided letting you die was preferable to saving your life."

She shrugged. "I behaved myself. I only threatened him once..." she frowned. "Maybe twice? It's a bit fuzzy."

Cullen snorted lightly. "There is one thing I don't understand..." he looked up at her, still grinning. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She frowned. "Did I miss something? What haven't I told you?"

He sat back in the chair again, genuinely surprised. "You... didn't know... Maker's breath. Now it makes sense." He chuckled.

"Don't leave me in suspense, Cullen... I hate being out of the loop," she urged, sitting up further.

"While Dorian and Vivienne were tending to your arm, and other _numerous_ injuries you sustained, she discovered something. I thought for sure when she told me that you would have known already. You knew so early last time..."

"For Andraste's sake, stop babbling and tell me already," she interrupted, her heart racing as she sat up.

He rolled his eyes, reaching to take her hand in his. "You're pregnant, Phil. Two months along at least," he chuckled.

She pulled her hand from his to lightly punch his shoulder, her lips pursed. "It's not too late for a divorce..."

He rubbed at his shoulder, still smiling. "I'm not joking, Phil. Check for yourself."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she looked away and then closed them, reaching inside herself with her mana, her remaining hand settling on her lower abdomen. She felt her eyes widen in shock as they snapped open. "Wait, what?! Maker's breath!"

"I told you I wasn't joking," he said with a grin. "Although, I understand now why you _personally_ handled all of this mess in spite of your condition."

Her face reddened and she looked away. "I swear, Cullen... If I had known, I never would have risked..."

He cut her off with a kiss to the lips, his palm on her neck pulling her closer. "It's over, and you're both safe. Don't fret over it."

She chuckled happily, allowing the news to seep in. "Sure, it's over... unless you count the Exalted Council. Do you have any news?"

He grunted and exhaled a breath. “More of the same I'm afraid.”

She extricated herself from him and stood slowly. She no longer felt woozy or tired. Aside from the gentle throbbing in her arm, she felt fine. “Well, I think it's time I made a decision for them. I didn't just risk my life because I thought it was fun.”

She hunted around for clothes and found her formal uniform folded neatly on a chair on the far side of the room. She painstakingly dressed herself, hissing softly as the heavy fabric brushed against her still tender stump. Cullen watched her diligently, but never offered help, knowing her well enough to know that if she needed help, she would ask. This was her new reality, and she needed to get used to it. Only after she rolled up the empty sleeve and could not find anything to secure it with did she ask him for help. He found a hat pin and carefully pushed it through the back of the sleeve to hold it in place. “What do you plan to say?” he asked with curiosity.

She grinned. “You know, I have no idea... but I will not allow them to take what we've built. Do you happen to know if Cassandra brought the writ from the Divine with her?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “She never goes anywhere without it.”

“Good... If you want to watch the fun, get to the Council. I'll be there in no time...” She kissed him and rushed off to find Cassandra's book.


	54. In the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa has lost her arm and with it her magic. Will she find a way to recover hat she has lost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some extra time, so I figured I would hand over another chapter in anticipation of the end of the story in a few chapters. I had so much fun writing Philippa that giving her story an ending is a little bittersweet, but I am really pleased with where it is going.

She gripped the heavy tome tightly against her chest, breathing in and out slowly before steeling herself to enter the room. Inside she could hear muffled arguing. Duke Cyril's voice rose above the rest. “Clearly something must be done, but we cannot lose the Inquisition now... We stand on the brink of war with the Qunari!”

“Yes!” Teagan interrupted. “Because this 'Solas' provoked them in the first place!”

Josephine's voice was strained as she fought. Philippa nudged open the door and stepped into the room, walking down the aisle with purpose as Josie spoke. The table where they'd sat on their first day had been removed and was replaced by several rows of spectator chairs as well as a line along the right hand wall where her Inner Circle all sat. Josephine was standing before the raised dais where Leliana sat, back rigid, between the two arguing men. “The Inquisition did not cause this threat! We informed the summit of the danger...”

“The danger posed by Qunari spies inside _your_ organization!” Teagan raged.

“Without _our_ organization, you would not be alive to complain,” Leliana said, snidely, her composure clearly rattled.

Teagan sighed. “No one has forgotten what you have done, but Corypheus is two years dead.”

Cyril sighed as well. “If the Inquisition is to continue, it must do so as a legitimate organization, not a glorified mercenary band.”

When she stepped up beside Josephine and the entire room got a good look at her, complete silence fell. It was obvious that her story had not traveled far beyond Cullen and Vivienne. Likely because no one knew the whole story. “Inquisitor?” Josephine said softly, her eyes falling to Philippa's missing arm and her jaw dropping.

Philippa gave her a brief nod and shifted the book into her hand to hold it aloft, projecting her voice above the silence and addressing everyone present, not just the ambassadors. “You all know what this is. A writ from Divine Justinia authorizing the formation of the Inquisition. We pledged to close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order.” Her eyes flicked to Cassandra who was watching from the sidelines with rapt attention and she grinned before using the own woman's words. “With or without anyone's approval...” The Seeker closed her eyes with a smile and shook her head. “The Inquisition saved the people of Ferelden when you couldn't. We are not disbanding. And we are certainly not submitting to an empire who's ruler only maintains the throne because we allowed it!” She turned back to the dais and pulled her heels together. “There's worse coming than anything you've yet seen, so we'll play nice. We'll bow. But not to you. The Inquisition will act as Divine Victoria's personal honor guard. Answering directly to her, we will transition from a military force into a peacekeeping organization... My own adventuring days may be done,” She held up the stump of her arm in demonstration. “but the Inquisition... and it's mission... will continue.” She tucked the tome back against her chest, took a short bow directed at Leliana only, and spun on her heel to leave the room. The Inquisition was hers. Nobody was taking that from her. She trusted her people in Leliana's hands, and the Divine was a neutral party.

Philippa was waiting out on a balcony, taking in the fresh air when she heard a group of footsteps approaching from behind. She turned to see all of her friends approaching her with varying degrees of smiles and questions. Cullen followed up at the rear, with a large crooked smile of his own. Bull got to her first and picked her up in a huge bear hug. “You did it, Boss!”

When he set her down, Dorian shooed him. “Get off her, you great lummox. Phil, darling, how are you feeling?” Dorian asked, brushing her hair from her face and giving her his own gentle hug. Obviously he had been privy to the news of her pregnancy.

“Much better,” she said, her good arm wrapping around him. He offered her a typical Dorian smirk and stepped out of the way.

The others all approached her, each of them taking a hug for themselves and either asking after her, congratulating her on saving the Inquisition, or asking her what happened. She sat down on a nearby bench and everyone gathered around to hear as she told them everything, with help from Varric, Dorian, and even Cass, until she got to the part about Solas. All eyes fell on her as she went into great detail about everything he had said. It felt good to have everything out in the open. When she was finished, Varric broke the silence. “Charmer, I am going to need a lot more ink if I'm going to be writing this whole mess down.”

“As long as you don't stick with your working title, I'll even help you write,” she chuckled.

“And what exactly is wrong with 'This Shit is Weird: The Inquisitor Hawke Story'?” he asked indignantly.

“It is strangely suitable,” Cullen said with a shrug as he nudged her gently.

She grinned. "You can't put my name in the title, Varric. Garrett will get jealous."

He shrugged. "It's just a working title, anyway. And I don't have the entire story... There is a rumor going around that needs to be verified..." He winked at her with a grin.

Philippa gasped in mock horror and looked between Dorian and Vivienne. "All right. Which one of you started the gossip wheel rolling?"

As Cullen chuckled, his hand finding the small of her back, Cassandra's face reddened. "Do not blame them, Phil. It was me. I was so excited when I heard the news that I may have let it slip..."

Philippa pretended to gasp again. "Cassandra Pentaghast! For shame!"

Sera giggled out loud and said, "She knocked his boots and he knocked her up!"

Philippa snorted. "Yes. That's exactly how it happened. Write that down, Varric."

Dorian crossed his arms. "Well, I will have you know that this is emotional blackmail, and I am _still_ going back to Tevinter."

"He said the same thing to me, when I tried to bribe him with a whip and some cuffs," Bull grunted with a devious grin.

"What delightful imagery," Vivienne said with a sigh. "Let me be the first to say congratulations, Inquisitor, but I really must be going. With the Exalted Council over, I'll need to return to the Circle."

"It was good seeing you, Vivienne," Philippa said politely, trying not to cringe when Vivienne mentioned her Circle. With a short bow to everyone she sauntered off, her pointed Hennin glinting in the lowering sun.

Rainier took his leave next as Varric handed Cassandra a book that Philippa recognized as the next chapter of one of his novels. The Seeker smiled at him, actually smiled, and Philippa almost burst out laughing. “Well, Charmer, let me know if you ever wanna use that fancy key I gave you, or if you'd like a grand tour of your estate. Anything to get me out of the Keep for a few hours,” Varric said coming over to hug her as well.

"You actually made her a comtesse?" Cullen asked in surprise. "I thought she was joking."

"I have the key to the chains in the harbor, too," she said out of the corner of her mouth, nudging Cullen gently.

He chuckled, and shook his head. "You must be the worst Viscount ever."

"Or the _best_ Viscount ever?" Varric chuckled suggestively. With one last pat to her arm, Varric left. Cassandra congratulated them on their news, but Philippa knew she would be at Skyhold when they returned or soon after, so no reason for weepy goodbyes.

Philippa chuckled and glanced back at Dorian. “By the way, when you visit... Don't say you won't because I am still betting on you perfecting new eluvians... I carved a few dirty pictures for you behind the books in the library.”

Dorian let out one of his loud reverberating one syllable laughs before Bull's booming laugh joined in. “I'm going to miss you, sweetheart.”

“You don't _have_ to go,” she pouted.

“Yes, I do. Maevaris will need my hand in sorting out the other magisters... That's why I got you that present,” he said sadly.

She reached up and touched the locket still hanging around her neck. “I'm going to use it everyday.”

“You'd better,” he said, rising from his seat. “Speaking of which, it is getting late and with the Exalted Council concluded, I will need to be heading out for the journey home in the morning.”

Evelyn stood and they embraced warmly, her gripping him as tightly as she could with only one arm. “Don't worry, Boss. I'll take good care of him.”

Dorian grunted and began arguing with him as they walked off together. “That's enough mush for me,” Sera said, getting up off the ground. “I've got to get back to my Widdle... see you arse biscuits later.” she turned to walk away, but stopped and looked at Leliana. “Oh and remember Most Madame Holy Bits... When the nobs piss about with your left hand or right, call on Red Jenny to give them two fingers!” She then made a rude gesture and turned back around, leaving the balcony.

Cole got up to stand beside her. "I'm glad you're trying again..." he said softly so only she could hear.

She smiled gently, touching his arm. "We didn't really _try_ this time. It just sort of happened. But I'm hopeful."

He tipped his head. "You're stronger now. Healed, whole..." He smiled and returned her touch. "You shouldn't fret..."

Philippa hugged Cole like she had Dorian. "Thank you, Cole. Will I see you around?"

"Probably," he said simply and with a final smile, he shuffled off.

Josephine and Leliana both said their goodbyes as well, before leaving Philippa with Cullen. Her shoulders slumped as she relaxed, turning to set a relieved smile on him. He stood and approached her, allowing her to huddle against him. "These last few days have been absolutely mad," she groaned. "Take me home?"

"I am going to take you home, and you are going to rest and recover properly before throwing yourself back into your work," he chided.

She chuckled, leaning against him. "What's the old saying, 'loss of limb will not excuse...'?"

"You're not very funny, you know," he said, his tone telling her otherwise.

"Come off it. I'm hilarious..."

Philippa sat quietly atop her bedroll, her eyes closed as she conducted a proper examination of herself while Cullen pounded the stakes of their tent into the ground nearby. She had barely had a moment to confirm Vivienne's diagnosis before heading to the Exalted Council. She had thought for certain that the estimation of how far along she was had been off, but upon further inspection, she was indeed nearly nine weeks along. She frowned slightly, rubbing her hand over her abdomen as she tried to remember her last cycle. Before she could recall, Cullen's voice interrupted her. "You're thinking far too hard."

She opened her eyes, lifting a brow at him and returning the teasing smile he was giving her. "Am I not allowed to think, now?"

"I never said that, but if you keep frowning like that, your face will get stuck that way," he shrugged, going back to pounding the final spike into the ground.

"I was just trying to figure out when exactly our little seed was planted..." she said, allowing her hand to fall into her lap beside the head of Cullen's mabari, who she had aptly named Gopher. He proceeded to lick her fingers and she lifted her hand again to scratch his head between his ears.

"And your conclusion?" he asked.

"Our first night out of Skyhold... On our way to South Reach..." dislodging Gopher's head, she stood and sauntered over to him as he rose to meet her. "Do you remember how cold it was at the base of the mountain? We took shelter in that grotto..."

His hands fell on her hips and he grinned at her. "I seem to remember your suggestion that we use... what were the words... 'friction and body heat'?... to keep warm."

"I seem to remember it working, and you were all too happy to fall in with the plan," she teased, leaning against him.

He lifted his hands to rest them on her shoulders and then he slid them slowly down her arms, stopping at her elbows. "Perhaps, if you're feeling up to it, there might be a chill in the air tonight..." he suggested.

"I should very much like it if there was," she grinned in return.

They were the first to arrive back in Skyhold, only arriving a few hours behind the runners. They hadn't rushed their ride, but Philippa had been eager to return. She missed her friends and she missed Azure. The dragon saw them approaching from his perch on the battlements just outside Cullen's tower. With an excited roar, he swept into the air and bolted down to greet them, landing with a thump in front of Philippa, his nostrils crackling lightning in his fervor. She chuckled and jogged to greet him, dropping her horse's reins and wrapping her arm around his long neck. He returned the gesture, his neck encircling her and his wings folding briefly around her. Philippa heard Cullen confidently calming Gopher before approaching and bodily prying the dragon off her. He grinned as Azure bumped him with his head. "Be gentle. We have precious cargo on board..."

Azure tipped his head and his eyes flicked between them. He sat back on his haunches and gently nudged her again, a quiet rumble issuing from his throat as he sniffed at her missing arm. Gopher whimpered and Azure's head snapped to the side to get a better look at the latest addition. Philippa placed her palm on Azure's snout and pushed him back toward the gates. "Be nice. Gopher has come a long way to be here, and he's probably never seen a dragon before."

Cullen led the horses in, Gopher following him as Philippa broke off toward the infirmary with Azure on her heels. She knocked softly, listening for an answer as Azure curled up outside the door. Once Finn's voice broke the silence, she entered, her missing arm behind her back in case the news hadn't been delivered. No need to give him a heart attack before even saying hello. He greeted her with a warm smile, his eyes wide in surprise. "Phil! You're back! That was much quicker than I thought. How did the Inquisition fare in the Exalted Council?"

She shrugged. "Well, most of me is back, yes... The Inquisition will be transitioning into Leliana's own personal honor guard... but that isn't important. So many _more_ important things happened in the Winter Palace... and out of it..."

Finn's brow rose in question. "What do you mean 'most of you'?" he asked curiously.

"That's part of the 'more important things'... When I arrived at the Palace, the Anchor started... spreading. Inquisition scouts found a dead Qunari in the palace who had come through an eluvian. Naturally, myself and a few others went to investigate and uncovered an invasion plan. Turns out, we weren't the only ones privy to the plan. The dead Qunari had been pushed into the Winter Palace by an old 'friend'. We chased the Qunari all through the Crossroads and found out that Solas was behind everything that had happened, including Corypheus discovering the orb that opened the Breach. But, get this... it was his orb to begin with, because our good friend Solas has been Fen'Harel this whole time... He wanted to enter the Fade and tear down the Veil to bring back the days of Arlathan... still does, in fact... The entire time all of this was happening, the Anchor continuously got worse and worse. Solas, when I caught up to him, did the only thing he could to save my life..." she smiled sheepishly and pulled her arm from behind her back.

Finn's eyes widened, and he dropped the pile of sheets he'd been holding to rush to her side. "Sweet Maker..." He reached out as if he wanted to take her arm in his hands, but then he flinched. "I'm sorry... I don't mean to... may I?"

She smiled and rolled her sleeve up further to remove the temporary bandage she had covering the odd looking scar. "I needed to change this anyhow..."

He took her arm in his hand and studied the unblemished stump with a frown. "There's no scarring or cauterization... How on Earth did Solas do this?"

"He used a spell... a few actually... woven together. Essentially, he slowly turned my arm to stone and allowed the petrified limb to chip and fall away, taking the Mark with it. The entire time it was happening, my arm was numb, and I didn't lose any blood. He used a healing spell the likes of which I've never seen." She shrugged as Finn stepped away to get her a fresh wrap and then began to take on the task himself.

"I'm sorry you lost your arm, Phil, but at least you're alive. Maybe you and Dagna can work out a way to..." he paused and frowned. "Nevermind. That's mad."

Philippa nodded, her own thoughts having headed in the same direction more than once on the way back from the palace. "Solas clearly commanded ancient magic that we've never even dreamed of. We know that normal spirit healing can reattach limbs if they're reached in time. The orb was his... and he told me himself that artifacts like it were used as foci for channeling magic. If Dagna and I can repair the orb, perhaps I could use it to fix my arm..." she said excitedly.

Finn frowned. "But you don't even have a limb to reattach, Phil. How would you...?" he began.

"I'm a dreamer, Finn. My power has to count for something. It may... will... take some time... but I'm willing to try at least." She smirked and cocked her hips. "When the newest Rutherford is born, I'd like to be able to properly hold him or her."

Finn's mouth twisted into a smile. "Are you saying...?"

"Oh, didn't I mention?... Cullen and I got married in Halamshiral, and I'm two months pregnant..." she said, still smirking.

"No, you failed to mention that bit..." he said with an eyeroll before sweeping her into a hug. "Congratulations... twice." When he pulled away he frowned. "Wait, you said two months... You went through all of that while..."

She cut him off. "I honestly had no idea. We've been so busy lately with everything that's been happening, and I wasn't keeping track of my cycle..."

"And everything is fine?" he asked with concern.

She nodded. "Believe me, after last time, I've been checking constantly." She hugged herself with her remaining arm. "Everyone knows this time, and I don't think I could bear having to go through that all over again with so much scrutiny."

"I think the word you're looking for is sympathy, Phil," he said with a chuckle, turning to gather up the sheets he had dropped and tossing them in the laundry to be rewashed.

"I know what I said," she said teasingly. Then she sighed. "Going through something like that... every time I tried to move on and not think about it even for a minute, someone inevitably brought it up again. With so many people privy to the information, I'd never be able to forget."

He pressed his lips together, but instead of prodding, he nodded. "At any rate, welcome back."

She smiled. "It feels good to be home. Is Ariane down at the stables? I have some interesting things to tell her about elven history..."

He chuckled. "When isn't she at the stables?"

After a few days back in Skyhold, Philippa began to feel restless. Cullen had practically ordered her to take a week off from doing anything more strenuous than paperwork. She had written letters to both her family and his, informing them of the news of the pregnancy, and in Mia's case, their marriage. Cullen had busied himself with quietly distributing a group of his more trustworthy soldiers, led by Rylen, to make them a secret place where they could work on their plans to deal with Solas when the time came, without the scrutiny of every eye in every nation like they endured at Skyhold. With the Academy still operating out of Skyhold, Leliana had graciously allowed Philippa to remain with a greatly depleted force of soldiers. Harding, who had taken over the role of spymaster after Leliana left to be anointed Divine, went with Rylen, taking only a few of her own scouts.

Skyhold felt empty in spite of the number of people still remaining, and Philippa quickly ran out of paperwork. Each day she spent without her arm, the more things Philippa discovered had become annoyingly difficult to do on her own. The day after they returned, she had gotten out from under Cullen's scrutiny while he met with Rylen, and snuck to the Undercroft to check on Dagna's progress with the orb. In the two years they had been studying it, they had yet to find a way to get it working again, largely because translating any of the markings had been next to impossible. She refused to get her hopes too high, but she didn't want to lose focus on it either.

By the morning of the third day, Philippa decided it was time to start discovering the limitations on her magic imposed by her missing limb. When Cullen kissed her and left to go about his business, she dressed, picked up her staff, and called Azure to follow her. As she made her way down from her tower, she carefully practiced twirling her staff with one hand. It was difficult, and she nearly dropped the slowly spinning staff several times as the heavy head whipped downwards, seemingly of it's own accord without her other hand to balance the weight. After she hit flat ground, not needing to navigate the stairs as she walked through the main hall toward the courtyard and the training ring, the twirling became slightly easier, her mind able to focus on the monotony of putting one foot in front of the other as her hand automatically gained control over the unbalanced head of the staff. Now if she could twirl the staff, walk, and actually draw on her mana simultaneously, she would have been surprised.

After she climbed into the training ring, she set the staff aside and made sure Azure stayed back so any wild magic that might escape her control would not harm him. Making certain no one was around to see her inevitable failures, she rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes. When she was a child, force magic had come the easiest to her, the first of her power to manifest, so she reached first for that. The mana in her core reacted, and she siphoned it to her palm. Choosing the nearest practice dummy, she pushed the spell outwards and to her surprise, the dummy rocked backwards, the spell hitting it with the small amount of force she had put into it. She had held back significantly, not wanting to do anything that might cause more destruction than was warranted for simple practice, just in case the magic were to go wild without the control her second limb brought her.

She cast a few more simple spells. Spells that generally only needed a single hand to cast. Then she bit her lip, curious what she could do if she attempted to cast another force spell that might temporarily give her a hand to work with. Could you cast a spirit arm that could harness your other spells? How taxing might that be on your mana? These were all questions that were swirling in her head as she stared at her remaining palm, when a voice interrupted her thoughts, making her jump. "What are you doing?" Cullen asked curiously as he approached, dressed like he had been planning on using the ring.

She chuckled. "Probably contemplating a very bad idea..."

He smiled as well, shaking his head. "What else is new?" He looked her up and down as she returned her attention to her thoughts. "With everything that's happened in the last week, I don't think I ever asked... Your arm... Has your magic been affected?"

She turned a half smile on him and allowed some lightning to crackle along her fingertips. "I suppose I came down here to answer that question..." he grunted softly, shifting his weight before she continued. "So far, I've been able to cast small, one handed spells, but..." she glanced at him again, reading his sympathy. "Honestly, I'm afraid to try anything else... Cullen, what if I can't... This is all I've ever been..."

He cut her off as she felt tears begin to spill from her eyes, unbidden. "This is _not_ all you've ever been, Phil. You are more than your magic. Do you think I would have loved you if all that was in you was your power?" He pulled her into a hug, and she tensed, something tickling at the back of her mind.

"What did you say?" she asked, pulling away from the hug with a frown.

He set the look on her that always meant he thought she was being thick. "I'm only saying, maybe you should let go of your magic. Focus on the life growing inside you and let me bear your burdens for a while..."

She stepped out of the hug all together, her stomach flipping. Backing away, she hugged herself, reaching with her remaining hand to pinch the meat on her upper arm. As the world around her flickered, her eyes narrowed. "Oh, you're good. You almost had me convinced."

The demon, still wearing Cullen's face, shrugged languidly. "You can't blame me for trying. Your mind is crying out for a solution... for answers. You know that a mage and a spirit can live in harmony together. Think of your friends who have allowed one of my kind into themselves. I can fix you, you know. Make you whole again. Together, we could be a powerful force."

"There's one problem. You're not a spirit. You're a demon. I know the difference. I've known Wisdom, Faith, Compassion. You are none of them." Philippa reached out with her mana, to figure out exactly what she was dealing with. "You..." she cringed. "You taste like... longing..."

The demon smiled with Cullen's lips. "And you have been calling out to me for days. You are... reasonably well fortified, but I found the cracks. There are others like me, scratching to get in. Do you not feel them? I could help you. The lesser of several evils... as it were. Without me, they will all continue to come... scratching... until you let them in."

Philippa lifted her hand to banish the taunting demon, but something held her back. As she looked at the demon, something deep down stopped her. Instead, she lowered her hand, flapping it in the demon's general direction. "Leave me be," she choked, with less force than she had intended.

Ripping herself from the Fade, she woke with a gasp, sitting up with her heart racing. Azure's head shot up to look at her, and her terror woke the man sleeping beside her. "Phil? Is everything all right?" Cullen asked, his hands landing on her shoulders.

She spun, falling into his arms and sobbing. She had not woken from a nightmare like that in a very long time. He pulled her against him, holding her tightly as she slowly calmed, sobbing against his chest. His hand ran gently through her hair, and he allowed her some time, having been the victim of his own share of nightmares in the past. As her breathing slowed and her heart rate returned to normal, she huddled closer to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, softly.

Cullen shifted his hands to her upper arms and gently pulled her away from him. "You're sorry? For what exactly?" He lifted his hands, one cupping her face. He lightly brushed her tears away with is thumb as he studied her.

Leaning into his hand, she closed her eyes and sighed heavily, then she lifted her right arm and placed her palm against his chest. His heart was racing, just as hers had been. "For waking you up? For nearly giving you a heart attack?"

When she opened her eyes, he was frowning slightly, but not in anger or annoyance. It was in curiosity. "I'll admit... You've talked about having nightmares, but I don't think I've ever actually seen you have one. Do you... Would you like to talk about it?"

She shuddered, drawing away from him and allowing her hand to fall into her lap. "Of all the people in Thedas... There are so many out there without magic, and without all of the baggage and insanity that comes with knowing me. Why me?" she glanced up at him. "Why did you choose me, Cullen?"

He studied her momentarily, saying nothing as he gathered his thoughts. "Do you remember Kinloch, before everything fell apart? I was tasked, on my first day, with watching over a girl whom Greagoir referred to as 'the most brilliant and the most pernicious' of the mages in the Circle. I watched you, as I was tasked, and after only a week, I was confounded. I couldn't grasp why Greagoir didn't trust you. In spite of your magic and your unique gift, you were the most empathetic person I had ever laid eyes on. After... Uldred... and Kirkwall, you just kept turning up in the middle of everything with that same level of selflessness and thoughtfulness. You've risked yourself for those you love again and again, and never once succumbed to temptation in spite of being bombarded with it all of your life. I've seen you at your lowest... when you were in so much pain you could barely lift a finger. On any of those occasions, a lesser woman would have given in and allowed her fear or her anger to get the better of her. That's why you, Phil..." He took her hand between both of his and lifted it to kiss her knuckles gently. "When I look at you, I don't just see a mage, or a somniari, or a 'pernicious' woman. I see the crazy, rebellious, maddening woman who regained her breath after a holy smite just to tell me off. I see the woman who stood in Orsino's office and told me that she would never resort to her baser instincts. I see the woman who stood in front of Corypheus and challenged him because it was the 'right thing to do'. Who wouldn't love you?"

She was crying again. Pulling her hand from his to brush away the tears, she chuckled around the lump in her throat. "So, I annoyed you into loving me, is that it?"

He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes before nodding with a teasing grin. "When you put it that way, yes. That's exactly how it happened."

"You used so many words to say that, Commander... I can barely string two words together at this hour..." she sighed, lifting her hand to yawn behind her fingers.

"I... was already awake..." he admitted with a shrug.

"You couldn't sleep?" she asked sympathetically. "Is something on your mind?"

"We've had so much happen since the Exalted Council... I realized we never talked about how you've been affected... by your arm, I mean..." He cleared his throat. "I'm no mage, and I don't know a thing about casting spells, but I know how much your magic means to you... I don't think I've seen you cast a single spell outside of the medical tests... and I suppose I started to worry... How are you holding up?"

Philippa reached over, grasping the remaining stump of her forearm and biting her lip. "That's actually part of what I was dreaming about... I haven't cast any spells, because I'm afraid of what I might find out I can't do. My magic has been a part of me since I can remember. To lose it now... over this..." she held up her arm. Then she sighed. "I feel like part of me is ripped away, and I can't..." she inhaled a ragged breath, trying to not start crying again.

Cullen took her chin in his hand and lifted it so she was looking at him again. "If there is anything I can do to help... Anything... You have only to ask."

"I... I need to know exactly what I am still capable of. Solas may have saved my life, but the reprieve is temporary. He is still out there... working to destroy the world. If we want our child to have a life, we'll need to stop him. I need to know if I can help," she admitted, her hand falling over her abdomen.

Cullen smiled at her. "Don't think I'm not aware you snuck down to the Undercroft yesterday. What exactly are you and Dagna up to in there?" he asked.

Biting her lip again, she shrugged. "If I'm being honest, it could be nothing. We've been studying that bloody broken orb for two years now. In light of new information, I thought it might be useful if we could get it working again. Perhaps a way to fight Solas, or give us more power against him... or maybe even help fix me..."

Cullen frowned. "Magic can't regrow limbs, Phil," he said skeptically.

"Modern magic, no... but the orb is ancient, and I've seen what Solas is capable of. He turned an entire Qunari horde into stone in seconds... The power that the ancient elves wielded was potent... the power of the Fade is even more so. Combine my power over the Fade, and the magic of the orb... who knows what might be possible..." she breathed excitedly.

He sighed and took her hand again. "Just promise me, whatever you do, you'll be careful..."

She chuckled. "I promise, I won't let Dagna blow me up."

He snorted. "That's less comforting than you think."

The morning after her nightmare, Philippa pinched herself after she got up, making certain she was not simply dreaming again. Satisfied she was awake, she dressed and made her way down to the training ring. Her hand trembled and she clutched her staff, trying to calm her nerves. She stepped into the ring, taking up a position in the very center, facing the training dummies that stood like sentries, staring at her with their soulless painted on eyes. She felt nauseous, and swallowed when her breakfast threatened to repeat itself. Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused on the hum of mana deep in her core. She reached for the magic, her heart racing. Before she could take hold of it, her nerves took over again and she shied away. Leaning on her staff, gripping the wood tightly, she took step back, her shoulders slumping. "Phil, darling, are you there?"

She jumped, the unexpected voice startling her. "Maker's breath," she gasped, transferring her staff to rest in the crook of her left arm so her hand was free. She reached up and lifted the small locket that Dorian had given her. When her fingers brushed the crystal, she managed a short chuckle. "Now I know why Cullen used to hate it when I barged into his office without knocking."

A short, one note bark of laughter filtered from the crystal and her shoulders relaxed as he purred a response. "I'll have to work on my introduction for next time. Wouldn't want to raise your blood pressure..."

"You can't be back in Tevinter yet. Is everything all right?" she wondered.

"Everything is fine, darling. I was just checking on you. We didn't have much chance to talk after everything that happened in Halamshiral..." he led gently.

She moved from the middle of the training ring to lean on a fence post and sighed. "Skyhold is just as I left it. Cullen has dismissed the majority of our troops, sending most of them to another location with Rylen to keep up appearances. The academy is between semesters, so..."

"Phil, if I might interrupt, sweetheart, I didn't ask about the Inquisition. I asked about you..."

She exhaled a breathy chuckle. "Right, me... I'm... fine?"

"That sounded less than convincing. Do your troubles lie in the realm of the physical, or emotional?" he asked knowingly.

"I'm standing in the training ring trying to get up the nerve to attempt casting a spell. I haven't been able to convince myself yet... If that answers your question..." she replied.

"I thought that might be it..." There was a brief pause before he spoke again. "You could cast spells long before you learned the intricacies of manipulating magic in the 'acceptable' way. You are a somniari, and a brilliant woman, Phil. I have no doubt that you can turn your 'unfortunate circumstance' to your advantage with hardly a thought. You've never let anything stop you before. Why start now?"

She chuckled around a few tears. "Maker, you sound like Cullen."

"If that is so, then your husband is smarter than he looks."

"Yeah," she snorted. "I'll tell him you said so."

"Could you do me a favor?" he asked calmly.

"Anything," she agreed.

"If you leave that training ring today unsuccessful, don't give up... And if you need anything from a pep talk, to a shoulder to cry on, never hesitate to use your crystal. No matter where I am, I will answer."

"Thank you, Dorian. I love you," she said with a smile.

"And I you, darling. Take care. And keep me updated on your progress and the baby.... and well, everything. I simply adore news."

Philippa smiled. Removing her fingers from the crystal, she stepped back to the middle of the training ring, palming her staff once again. "Okay, Phil. Let's start small," she said to herself, taking a deep breath.

Closing her eyes, she drew on her mana and directed it toward her staff. Once the mana was flowing, she tapped the butt of her staff on the ground and pushed the mana upwards toward the head. The crystal lit, humming with a soft glow. Her heart began to flutter with anticipation. Pulling the mana back, she allowed the light to wink out and shifted her grip on the staff. Slowly beginning to twirl the staff, she allowed her mana to drain from her fingers and flow into the wood again, building. Once she felt the spell charging, she took a step forward with her left leg, aiming for one of the dummies before her. She stopped the staff with what was left of her forearm, the momentum ceasing and she fired off the spell. The staff bounced from her arm, where it normally would be stopped by her hand wrapping around the upper grip. The spell jumped from the head and flew high, missing her target and puffing out on the stone wall above the dummy's head. She cursed, glad she had only used as much mana as she needed to barely shape the spell.

Pulling her feet back together, she readjusted her fingers on the shaft. She tried again with the same result. "Fuck..." she cursed, throwing the staff to the ground at her side. Shaking out her hand, she tried a different spell, leaving the staff on the ground. She stepped her right hip forward this time, lifting her palm into the air before her, facing herself. She concentrated, taking hold of the air above the dummy and pulling downwards. With a loud crack, the spell slammed the dummy flat, snapping the stake it was mounted to in half.

The small victory made her feel slightly better, even if force magic was the easiest branch for her to control. She knelt and picked up the staff again, determined. As she spun it this time, she tried to concentrate on drawing the glyphs she would need to connect to hit her target. One where her staff should land, and the second beneath her target for the magic to jump to. Lightning arched along the shaft, bundling at the head and sparking eagerly outwards. Once the charge was full, she attempted to make the staff do as she wished, using her single hand to stop the momentum and stab the butt into the ground. Instead, the staff continued past the stopping point, and again, her spell misfired, the staff flying from her hand. "Dammit," she cursed softly, reigning in her mana and reaching to grip the stump of her arm in frustration.

She stood in the middle of the ring, still hugging herself for a moment, her mind racing with possible solutions. "Would you like a hand?" Cullen asked from a few feet away. She heard him grunt as he bent to pick her staff up from the ground.

She allowed a short, hysterical bark of laughter to escape her. "That would be nice, wouldn't it. Unfortunately, I'm one short," she replied.

She chuckled softly. "I'm sorry. Let me rephrase..." He approached her, offering her the staff with a casual smirk.

"No..." she sighed. "That was actually... hilarious. I'm just a little frustrated. I've been training with a staff from the time I was tall enough to hold one. Now I can't even get the bloody thing to do what I want it to."

Cullen frowned as she took the staff from him. "You can cast without a staff. I've seen you do it."

"It's... not the same. Without being able to use the staff as a focus, my magic can tend to get a little..." she rolled her eyes. "Out of hand... pun intended."

"Andraste preserve me," he mumbled, trying his hardest to wipe the smirk from him face as he too rolled his eyes.

"In all seriousness, I am the first to admit that magic can be unpredictable. Without my left hand to focus and direct the magic, and sometimes even to cast a spell, I'm crippled. In more ways than one."

Cullen frowned briefly, and then she saw the wheels turning in his head. "There must be a way for you to place a bit of control over spells without the need of a focus. Or perhaps Danga might be able to fashion a less unwieldy type of staff."

Philippa thought for a moment and then shook her head. "Staves are fashioned as they are for a purpose. If too much mana is poured into too small of a receptacle, it tends to have explosive results. If she made something smaller for one handed use, it would likely not be strong enough to be practical... although..." Philippa frowned again and looked down at her palm, resting the staff in the crook of her arm. "Materials..." she mumbled softly. "materials and kinetic... no... materials and stored mana... runes... no..." she started to pace, her mind working on overdrive. "I need..." she paused and looked up at Cullen who was watching her with a crooked brow. "I'm sorry, Cullen, but I need to look up a few things... I'll be in the library." She rushed past him, pausing to give him a brief kiss before heading straight for the library.

Upstairs, she grabbed up a few tomes on magical theory, and a half dozen small spell books. Then she headed down from the rotunda to the secret library off the previously unused dining hall. Once the Academy had started up, they had fixed up the dining hall for the students and their guests, and Philippa had a lock put on her library. Fumbling with the pile of books in her arms and the key, she finally got the door open and she pushed her way inside, kicking the door closed behind her. Using the already installed mage lights, she pushed a small amount of mana into the crystals and the small room lit up brightly.

There were more than a few old tomes in the secret library that had been set aside for use as journals or as grimoires. Finding a blank book, Philippa set to work, jotting down ideas and scribbling out the bad ones to replace with better ones.


	55. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa bangs her head against the problem that is her missing arm, hoping to find a way to restore her magic.

"Hey... Weaver..." Philippa felt a gentle shaking of her shoulder.

Lifting her head from amidst the pile of scattered notes and open books, her back protested and she cringed. "Finn?" she asked groggily. She looked up at him, blinking slowly and then back down at the mess in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

Finn sat on the edge of the desk, brushing aside a few books to make room and he grinned. "Your husband has half the castle looking for you... You told him hours ago that you were going to the library. When you neglected to come to bed, he looked for you in the rotunda..."

"And I wasn't there... Shit..." she cursed, rubbing her eyes, one at a time, with the heel of her hand. "I lost track of time..."

"And fell asleep... how very typical..." he teased. "It's like we're back in Kinloch."

She picked up one of the balled up bits of parchment on the desk and tossed it at him. "Shut up. I'm sleeping for two, and I didn't sleep well last night. I'm bound to doze off in random places."

Finn shuffled around in the piles of her frenzied work. "This doesn't look like random work..."

She shook her head. "No... Cullen caught me trying to practice a few spells earlier, and something he said gave me an idea. It's still a work in progress that will likely take me ages to figure out properly, but everything I'm reading says it could work if implemented in the right way."

Finn looked over her notes and began to grin. "If you're right, this is brilliant."

"I can't be the only mage who's ever lost a limb and their magic in the process. This could be a solution that helps a lot of people," she agreed.

"For right now, I think you should go tell Cullen you're not missing... He's a little bit terrifying when he's concerned," Finn said, standing from his perch and offering her a hand up.

She chuckled. "But so very adorable."

"I'll take your word for it," Finn said with his own small laugh as they left the library and she locked up behind them.

Philippa spent most of the next few months buried in books in her library, practicing her hand gestures and making adjustments to some more complex spells to allow for the fact that she didn't have a second hand to gesture with. After she finished a spell, she would take the end product to Dagna who happily set to her end of the plans, designing runes and putting them to paper for reference with notations and adjustments which she marked down in the margins. There was one aspect of Philippa's plan that she had yet to figure out, and she was pacing in her library one afternoon when Cullen came knocking. "I thought I'd find you here," he said with a grin as she paused and cocked her hip, returning his smile. "Is everything all right? You look pensive."

She waved her hand, approaching him to offer a kiss as greeting. "Just a road block. I'll work it out."

"Perhaps a break will do you good," he said, his grin turning devious. "I have a surprise for you."

"What's the occasion?" she wondered, allowing him to take her hand and pull her from the small dark room.

He turned on her, his brow rising in disbelief. "Don't tell me you actually forgot your own birthday..."

She frowned and thought about the date, then she bit her lip. "Pregnancy brain?"

"Coupled with distraction and isolation, I could see where that might be the case," he said gently. "Come and get some fresh air." He stopped and pulled her closer to him, his palm landed over her swollen abdomen and he smiled again. "You both could use it."

She slipped her hand from his and pressed it over his other and smiled. "You are probably right."

"I _am_ right," he corrected with a smirk. "Now come on. Your surprise is waiting."

They were approaching the nineteen week mark in her pregnancy, when everything had gone so horribly wrong the last time. Her stomach was protruding a bit farther and a bit sooner than it had last time, making her glad that they had not decided to try and keep it a secret this go around. It would have been much more difficult. Each little flutter of movement she felt brought relief and a temporary reprieve from the nerves that invaded her each time she stopped thinking and allowed her mind to wander. Her nightmares had been filled with fear in the last few weeks, giving her little rest from the insistent spirits that clamored to be the one that slunk it's way past her defenses.

After they climbed the stairs to the main hall, Cullen stopped them again. "Do you trust me?" he asked, pulling a scarf from his belt.

She chuckled. "If I wasn't pregnant, I might guess this would end in me bound and gagged in a very compromising position."

He turned her around. "I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said, chuckling as he swept the scarf over her eyes, blocking her vision. Once she was blinded, he took her arm in his and began to guide her.

"That was an emphatic 'maybe' at best," she joked in return. "You're not going to smite me, are you?"

He laughed again. "No..." she felt a breeze cross her face and the sun begin to warm her skin as they stepped outside. "Stairs..." he said softly.

Philippa knew Skyhold like the back of her hand. She had trudged the grounds and halls for years, learning each crack and dip. She knew there were two long paces from the main entry to the stairs, and thirty wide steps down to the first landing, the third and sixteenth of which had nicks in the stone along the edges that you could slip on if you weren't careful. After the two long paces and quarter turn at the landing, there were twenty-five more stairs down to the courtyard with a trick step on the twentieth. She held on to Cullen, walking confidently in spite of the blindfold. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Cullen led her toward the center of the courtyard. He stopped her and patted her hand, taking his arm. Some shuffling around her made her tip her head so she could hear better.

Suddenly, the scent of blade oil and leather reached her just as a set of arms wrapped themselves around her in a slightly more gentle bear hug than she was used to. "Happy birthday, sister!" Garrett said as he reached up and untied the knot in the scarf so it fell from her eyes.

She looked up at her twin and gasped, pulling him against her again for another hug. "I should say the same to you!"

He chuckled, reverting to his usual bear hug, lifting her from the ground. "Your hugs are so much more lopsided than I remember."

She giggled as he set her down. "That tends to happen when you've lost half an arm."

"Out of the way, Hawke. It's my turn," Anders protested, prying Garrett off her and bending to hug her as well. "Look at you!"

She returned the hug, choking back tears that were coming unbidden with her excitement. When Anders let her go, she glanced around and saw some more familiar faces that she hadn't seen in ages. She glanced back at Cullen who was standing back, grinning with his arms crossed and his hips cocked. "This is your doing!" she accused with a chuckle as she wiped her tears away.

"It seems my brother finally learned how to write a letter," Mia said as she approached, smiling widely.

"It's so good to see you," Philippa said, hugging her sister in law as tightly as she had her twin.

"Likewise," Mia said. "Rosie and Bran send their best."

"Ohhh, tell them I miss them. And how is little Jayden?" she wondered.

Mia chuckled. "Excited to have a cousin... Not even the Maker Himself could convince him that the babe won't come out fully aged to a boy of five years for him to play with."

Philippa chuckled as well. "I'll see what I can do."

"Knowing you, you could pull that off, Charmer..."

Philippa looked around Mia and smiled widely. "Varric! How did you escape your Viscount duties to visit me on my birthday?"

He shrugged casually. "I may have told the seneschal I was going to a meeting with a very important business partner out of Ferelden and failed to tell him that the meeting was actually _in_ Ferelden."

"Oooh Varric lied to his handler," Sera's voice entered the mix, with a teasing lilt. Her presence, along with Bull's, Cassandra's, and Cole's was not as big a surprise as the others. They were always stopping in to Skyhold randomly, whenever the whim suited them.

"Maker's breath," Philippa gasped, lifting her arm to flatten her hair and straighten her clothes. "I wasn't expecting to have to look presentable today."

"Cassandra thinks you're glowing..." Cole said as he wrinkled his nose, trying to work out the meaning of the phrase.

Philippa barked out a laugh. "That's just the sun reflecting off my pale skin. I've admittedly been a bit preoccupied in the library lately..."

The conversation took off, as everyone settled in and those that didn't, got to know each other. Philippa glanced around, taking in the bits of decoration that had been put up around the courtyard, and the rest of the guests that filtered in. As she backed out of a conversation to grab a few snacks from the table that was off to the side, Cullen approached her, his arms snaking around her middle. She leaned back into him with a smile. "So was this worth leaving your hole?"

She chuckled. "I'm not a ghast..." Then she paused. "Though, it must seem like it lately. I'm sorry."

He hummed, kissing lightly along her neck. "I'm not trying to separate you from your work. I know how important it is to you that you finish this, so don't be sorry. I just thought I'd let you know that I miss you."

She turned in his arms and smiled up at him. "Out of curiosity, other than the gathering of all of my favorite people, did you have anything else planned for today?"

His hands were resting on her hips, and his thumbs caressed lightly over her bare skin just above the waist of her leggings beneath her tunic. "Today? No..." he responded with a small frown. Then his expression shifted, his mouth lifting in a crooked grin. "Although, if you're feeling up to it later, I thought we might spend some time together."

She hummed as her own smile spread. She stepped closer to him, lifting her arm to slip her fingers in his hair. "I'm sorry Commander, but I plan on being very busy with my husband tonight. Perhaps another time?"

"You're terrible," he said with a chuckle before leaning in and capturing her lips briefly.

"If you're going to do that, maybe scoot aside a bit. You're blocking the cheese tray," Garrett's voice interrupted as he leaned in close to them so he could drape his arms over their shoulders.

"Maker's breath," Cullen mumbled as he grudgingly took a step back from her and slipped out from under Garrett's arm.

Philippa chuckled. "You knew what he was, and you invited him..."

Cullen smirked. "I know. I'm starting to regret my decision."

Garrett pouted behind his shaggy beard. "You would say such things about your own brother in law. Be careful I might reconsider my blessing."

Anders' soft chuckle joined the conversation as he took Philippa's hand in his and gently tugged her away from Garrett. "I think it's a little bit late for that, love." Then he sheepishly looked at Cullen. "Would it be all right if I borrowed your wife for a few moments?"

Cullen's eyes narrowed only slightly before he nodded curtly. "Of course."

With a smile, Anders hooked his arm with hers and led her off from the crowd. When they were out of ear shot, Philippa stopped them so she could take a seat on a nearby ledge, taking in a deep breath and enjoying the shift of weight that allowed her to fully inflate her lungs. Anders watched her as she ran her hand over the hump of her abdomen. "How have you been?" he asked, clearly in healer mode.

She shrugged. "I've been adjusting a lot lately. Between my hand, and the pregnancy, and the new lifestyle without the Inquisition... I can't say it hasn't been trying, but I'm slowly working on a plan..."

"Are you getting enough rest? You're not skipping meals?" he asked, sitting down beside her. "I know what distraction can be like..."

She saw his hand twitch toward her before he closed his fist around it and pulled away, closing his eyes. "I've been keeping a close watch on myself, but a second... third, actually, pair of magical eyes can't hurt. You're itching to get a look..." She grinned. "Go ahead..."

He snorted, then reached his hand over, already humming with a blue healing aura. "I know that both you and Finn have probably been tracking everything, and I know that I didn't botch your healing last time, but I can't help wanting to make sure."

She chuckled as well as the cool hum of his magic slipped over her and the butterfly sensation she always felt flitted through her stomach followed by actual full-on movement. "Believe me when I say I have been downright paranoid... feel that...?" he nodded and smiled. "If I didn't have my research to keep my mind off things, I'd likely be barking mad by now."

Anders allowed his hand to rest over the movement for a few moments. "What exactly have you been working on... if you don't mind my asking?"

She reached over and wrapped her hand around the top of her missing forearm. "After I lost my arm... You can guess what losing my magic would feel like... I can still cast simple spells, but nothing close to the magnitude I was capable of before." She dropped her grip and sighed, lifting her remaining hand to conjure a small wisp in her palm. "I miss my magic. Over the last few months, I have been working on a theory. I've been adapting gestures for one handed casting, making up for the other half with a series of runes. I've had Dagna working on the runes after I complete the spells, compacting them into fewer and fewer runes by combining certain spell trees and similar runes. Since I can't wield a staff anymore with anything close to accuracy, I'm panning on a rod or wand style focus object..."

Anders held up a hand, frowning. "If I might interrupt... How do you plan on integrating the runes into your casting?"

She bit her lip. "That's actually where I've hit a wall. I thought about a book, but how would I carry it...? I can't inscribe that many runes on a wand, it'll explode before I even cast my first spell..." As she sat beside Anders, thinking, her hand lowered and the wisp flickered out, her mind taking off as it had been before Cullen came to collect her. Suddenly, an idea snapped into her head and she sat a little bit straighter, reaching up to knock herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. "Maker's breath, I'm so stupid! Why didn't I think of that before?"

"A little explanation for those of us three ideas behind...?" Anders nudged, her excitement spreading to him as he also sat straighter.

"I need a Dalish mage..." she said, getting to her feet. "I wonder if Ariane is still in contact..."

Anders stopped her with a hand wrapped around her bicep and she made to rush off. "If you need a Dalish mage, Hawke might just know someone who can help. She and I never really got along because she saw nothing wrong with practicing blood magic, but for whatever reason, I trust she would never willingly hurt anyone. She isn't that kind of blood mage. No one would know more about Dalish magic than someone who was her Keeper's First."

Philippa wrinkled her nose as she frowned, trying to recall the name of the young, dark haired, mage that had helped them in the Gallows while Kirkwall fell apart. She was more used to Varric calling her Daisy than her actual name. Finally, with a sigh, she said, "We've met, but it was only once after the Chantry exploded. I can't seem to recall her name."

"Merrill," Anders reminded her with a smile. "Don't worry. I'll blame the pregnancy for your terrible memory."

She snorted. "I'm lucky I remember my own name, anymore. Cullen will need to pin a note to my shirt before this is over."

Anders pulled her back to sit beside him again. "Well, the good news is that Garrett has been beside himself worrying about you, and now I can tell him that there is nothing remotely amiss. Things are coming along swimmingly."

She bit her lip again and looked up at Anders. "I was actually debating on whether I should ask you this or not since Skyhold doesn't seem to be your favorite place, but I was wondering... Finn may have grown a lot in the last decade or so, but he is admittedly not all that experienced in the actual process of childbirth. It was never his area of expertise. Would you..." she sighed. "Would you be willing to be here for the birth?"

He drew back, a look of surprise on his face before he smiled. "I'd be honored, but I have to ask whether your husband might take offense. He doesn't seem to like me much."

She chuckled. "I've been convincing Cullen of things for two decades. It's all about making him see reason. He knows of three living spirit healers that I trust, myself included. With Finn out of the running, that leaves the two of us. I can't exactly step in myself if something goes wrong. I've already asked Mia to be my official midwife, but I would prefer it if I had someone with magic who could keep an eye and step in should complications arise."

Anders grinned. "You do the convincing and I'll be sure I'm here in time."

She returned the smile. "With any luck, all you'll have to do is stand around looking useless."

"Hmm... My specialty," he joked. "Don't forget pretty."

"Pretty useless, got it," she chuckled in return.

As the gathering wound down and people began to find their beds and disappear from the dwindling light of the courtyard, Philippa sipped on the glass of water that Finn had brought her when he said goodnight. She was leaning with her rear against the ledge that overlooked the infirmary, watching her brother not so subtly grope Anders while Mia watched with wide eyes. She smiled as Cullen ghosted up beside her, mirroring her lean and crossing his arms. "Your brother really has no shame, does he?"

She chuckled. "Unfortunately for Mia, neither of them do." She set the empty glass down beside her and leaned against Cullen. His arms uncrossed and his nearest one snaked around her shoulders to pull her closer. "Do you think anyone would miss us if we slipped away?"

His hand rubbed up and down her upper arm as he returned her chuckle. "I doubt it. Those who aren't drunk are thoroughly distracted by those who are."

She turned toward him and slipped from under his arm so she could take his hand. Pulling gently so he would grin and follow her, she backed toward the stairs to the main hall. "Good, because I think you owe me a birthday favor."

"Are you taking me with you because you value my company or because you need me to carry you up the stairs?" he teased, falling into step beside her.

"A little of both?" she said with a chuckle and a shrug.

He hummed in agreement. "I figured as much."

They passed through the empty main hall and slipped into the door that led to their quarters. As the door closed behind them, Cullen pulled her to a stop and spun her into him. Then he swiftly dipped low and swept her into his arms. She shrieked and giggled as he started up the stairs, moving confidently in the familiar space. He captured her lips, kissing her deeply. Her heart fluttered, and she realized just how long it had been since she had allowed herself to be overly distracted by him. Her mind was always on her project, or the Inquisition, or the Academy. As they reached the top of the stairs and he knelt to set her back on her feet, the kiss broke and she pressed herself against him. "I'm sorry," she said softly, reaching up to caress his cheek lightly.

He frowned as he leaned into her touch. "What for?" He turned his lips into her palm and kissed her skin.

"For being so distant lately," she confessed. She opened her mouth to continue, but he stopped her, lifting his hand to brush her bangs out of the way.

"Shh... It's nothing to be sorry for." He nudged her backwards, further into the room. He sat her on the bottom edge of the bed and smiled as he knelt in front of her. "You have a lot on your mind and that's understandable. Let me give you something else to think about."

His hands gripped her thighs, squeezing lightly before he slid them upwards. That simple touch excited her, making her realize how closed off she had been lately. The last time she had been pregnant, she hadn't been able to keep her hands off Cullen. This time she had been so preoccupied, she had pulled away from him. She leaned back and he drew his hands back down her thighs and he worked her boots off her feet. Her breeches soon followed before he nudged her to lie all of the way back and gingerly lifted her legs so they were draped over his shoulders. His hands roved up and down her thighs as he slowly kissed between her legs, drifting from her knees to more intimate places. Her heart began to thump wildly and she gasped in pleasure as his tongue swept outside her opening. "Oh, sweet Maker," she hummed.

Cullen's hands tightened around her thighs and he dipped his tongue inside, tasting her. He was slow at first, giving her ample pleasure with every twirl of his tongue. As her hips started to move, pushing into him, he hummed with his own pleasure, the vibration from his throat forcing her hand down so she could wrap her fingers in his curls, groaning with the promise of release.

Just as her pleasure nearly spilled over the edge, Cullen pulled free, leaving her just on the cusp of her orgasm. With a whimper, she let her hand fall from him as he began to kiss up over the mound of her belly and toward her breasts using his hands to lift the fabric of her tunic so he could slip it over her head. Once it was gone, he pulled his own shirt over his head and discarded it, giving her a perfect view of his sculpted chest and abdomen as he worked himself free of his laces. He stood before her a moment, naked and grinning as he took his own moment to rove his eyes over her body. She beckoned him to her and he stepped nearer, sliding his arm beneath her to coax her further onto the bed. He climbed over her, leaning in to begin tracing his mouth over her neck before shifting to kiss her lips. As careful as he was, the press of him over her suddenly made her pull away, hissing slightly as it became a little more difficult to breathe. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?" he asked, pulling away.

She chuckled as the baby shifted between them, jabbing her in the rib for good measure. "It's fine. Don't apologize." She pulled him close and gave him a reassuring kiss before running her hand down his chest. "We've just never had quite this much of a hindrance between us... Perhaps another position?"

"You don't like top," he pointed out, tracing fingers down her collar and around her side.

She giggled as he hit her ticklish spot. "I like breathing more than I dislike top."

He snorted. "Perhaps this..." He shifted her further onto the bed again and then went to his knees, lifting her hips and resting her on his thighs while he positioned himself so he could grip the headboard. When he slipped inside, he grazed her clit and she gasped, biting her lip afterwards as her hips reacted, pushing him further inside. "Comfortable?"

She nodded silently, gripping the sheets beneath her. He slowly began to move his body, matching her own rolling hips. The angle had him relentlessly sliding back and forth over her most sensitive spot and she fought to keep it together. He reached down with one hand to gently squeeze her breast and her hand shifted to trace lightly over his thigh. Her magic came unbidden, sparking electricity from her fingertips and making him falter, groaning in pleasure as she wrapped her legs more tightly around his waist. The orgasm he had denied her came back full force, and she reached up to grab hold of the headboard herself, a choked cry escaping her throat. "Maker, Cullen, I'm so close," she moaned, as he continued to thrust himself against her. "Don't stop!"

His own movements became more urgent and both his hands went to the head board. Just before she thought she couldn't hold back any longer, he pushed deep inside and she felt the pulse of his orgasm. The twitch of his body gave her the release she had been holding back, drawing a pleasured cry from her, her legs holding him in place until they began to shudder with weakness. "Maker's breath," he sighed, his forehead thumping onto the headboard above her.

She unhooked her ankles, allowing her useless legs to fall alongside him. He shifted, slipping free before falling beside her on his back with a contented grin. Rolling off her back and giving her lungs a reprieve, she draped her arm over his chest. "That was... much needed."

He rolled to face her, tracing his fingers over her shoulder and down her side. "Even though I nearly accidentally crushed you?" he teased.

She snorted, moving her arm to pat her belly. "We're just not used to all of this. And it's only going to get bigger."

He laid his hand on top of hers. "We're getting close to..."

She stopped him with a kiss, pulling her hand from under his to lay it on top as the baby shifted. "Don't think about that. Think about this..." she moved his hand just over where she felt the movement. "Anders said he could feel it earlier. There's no reason you shouldn't. Just... there!" Holding his hand in place, she waited for his expression, holding her breath and watching him as he focused on their hands over the still subtle movements.

As the baby settled, he looked up at her with a tentative smile. "That was...?"

She nodded, her own smile widening. "You see. Active and healthy..."

"Good..." he said with a light sigh before he leaned down and kissed over where their hands had just been. Settling in beside her, he allowed her to snuggle against him. "Mia tells me you've asked her to be your midwife?"

"I have... I also asked Anders if he would mind coming back closer to the due date, just in case something were to go wrong. I trust Finn, but Anders has delivered children before..." she confessed.

Cullen chuckled. "I doubt we could have kept your brother away regardless."

"You're probably right."

They laid together quietly for a few minutes, simply enjoying being together. It had been some time since she had rested her head on his chest to listen to his heart thump steadily. Azure snored softly from where he laid in his much too small bed that he refused to allow her to swap out for a new one, and Gopher rested contentedly on the couch, far from Azure. Finally, Cullen broke the contented silence again, his voice rumbling through her. "So how has your research been going? Any breakthroughs recently?"

She lifted her head to rest her chin on his chest and grin at him teasingly. "Since when do you ask about breakthroughs? Normally, you just wait until I've finished and then give an opinion on the finished product..."

He shrugged. "I may not have any idea how magic works, but this is your future. I want you to figure it out so you can use your... gift... at the level you're used to. I know how important this is to you."

She sighed, dropping her forehead to his chest in place of her chin. "I had an idea today, but I don't know if it will work. I have all of the runes drawn out, and I've tested and re-tested my compensatory gestures..." She lifted her head again. "All I need now is a fool proof way to use the runes without overloading the object they're inscribed on. Where a wand will work for a focus object, I can't trace a dozen runes into the wood, it'll shatter... and I can't carry around a heavy tome like a spellbinder, I'll just end up dropping it..."

"You said you had an idea?" he wondered, stopping her rant.

She bit her lip, looking away from him and sitting up to cross her legs beneath her. "Are you familiar with Vallaslin?"

He sat up as well, frowning. "The Dalish face tattoos?"

She nodded. "Garrett had a friend in Kirkwall whose entire body had been covered with these tattoos... Although, his had been given to him in Tevinter while he was a slave to a magister, and they were made entirely of lyrium. My theory was to combine the two methods, ink and lyrium, to inscribe the runes directly onto my skin..." As Cullen frowned and his eyes flicked to her face, she held up her hand to stop his assumption. "Not on my face of course. I was thinking they would fit nicely in a pattern around what remains of my forearm. Easily accessible..."

He seemed to relax, the tension easing from him in a sigh. "Wouldn't you need a Dalish Keeper to do the tattooing? As I understand it, the rituals used are a closely guarded secret."

"That brings me to my next hiccough. Garrett knows someone who might be able to help. I've met her before... He trusts her, but I've seen her... using blood magic," Philippa confessed, cringing.

Cullen shifted to face her head on. "You can't be serious!"

She lifted her hand to press her palm to his chest. "Anders hates blood magic as much as I do, but he still recommended Merrill to me. Garrett trusts her, and I trust Garrett. They've been friends for a decade and he wouldn't put anyone in my path that would do any harm. This could be my only chance, Cullen."

"You said yourself you weren't sure it would work..." he pointed out, hesitant.

She nodded. "If Garrett can get in touch with Merrill, I'd like to invite her here first so we could have a chat and I could get her opinions on the matter. We have plenty of time to work out the details. I can't do anything until after the baby is born anyway."

Cullen studied her with intensity. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke. "If I hadn't been the one to bring up your research, I would be extremely suspicious that you wanted to have this conversation naked to sway my decision."

She grinned deviously. "Were you properly swayed?"

He sighed. "I trust you to make the right decision after beating your head against the situation for a ridiculous amount of time."

Philippa leaned forward and kissed him. "I promise... if there is any hint or even a mention of blood magic, I'm pulling the plug."

For the next two months, Philippa felt like worrying was all she was useful for. She fretted her way through the nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first weeks of her pregnancy, terrified of suffering another miscarriage. In the middle of her fifth month, during one of her almost daily examinations, she excitedly got up from her desk in her library and rushed as quickly as she could to find Cullen. When she hurried up to him, breathless, he gripped her upper arms, his eyes wide. "Is everything all right?"

She smiled reassuringly and inhaled deeply to catch her breath. "Bloody stairs," she cursed. When she could breathe again, she smiled wider and took his hand. "I know what we're having."

Cullen grinned, exhaling a breath as his brow un-furrowed. "So it's not only a baby then? Let me guess... You've managed to beget us a wyvern?"

She punched his arm. "No... shut up... Do you want to know the sex?"

He chuckled, pulling her against him. "I would love to."

She pushed up onto her toes to brush her lips against his ear as she whispered. "It's a boy."

He pulled her closer, hugging her tightly. "We're having a son..."

The knowledge of the baby's sex seemed to somehow ease her mind. She slept through that night, blissfully nightmare free.

A week later, she received a letter from Garrett that was closely followed by a letter from his Dalish friend. She had agreed to come to Skyhold, but it would take her some time to travel South from where she currently was. Merrill sent ahead several questions that she had, filling nearly three full parchments. The raven that had arrived with the burden had pecked at her insistently until she fed him extra treats. All of the questions, and the idea that her plan might actually work, set Philippa's nerves on edge again. She and Dagna worked tirelessly to compact the runes into as few separate entities as they could. By the time Merrill arrived, they had managed to manipulate and cluster them into a group of 25 separate runes which when placed in the order they were in would allow the flow of mana through each of them without affecting the ones around them unless she drew on more than one.

Philippa carefully made her way down to the main gate when the guard reported someone approaching. By the time she was passing the infirmary, Merrill was passing beneath the gates. Her thin neck was craned so she could look all of the way up to Skyhold's tallest tower. "By the Dread Wolf, Skyhold is much bigger than Hawke described it!" She pulled her eyes back down and they fell on Philippa. "Oh, hello. I'm sorry, I was distracted. It's been a while since I was in a place this big. I think your towers are bigger than Kirkwall's. I'm Merrill... but you knew that. And you're Philippa... but you knew that too... Let's stick with hello... if that's okay?"

Philippa chuckled. "Please, call me Phil. You've been traveling for weeks. Why don't we get you settled?"

Merrill giggled sweetly. "I'm Dalish. Traveling is kind of what we do. If you're up for it, I'd love to see everything you've been working on. I've brought some of our ink, and, with some help, I managed to get my hands on some of the research and methods that Danarius used to tattoo Fenris. It was good to see Isabela again... I'm sorry, I'm rambling... Look at you... standing around can't be comfortable."

Philippa chuckled. "The good news is, you'll get to see my brother, and Anders in a few weeks for the birth."

Merrill gasped as Philippa began to herd her toward the stairs up to the main hall. "Hawke is always so cryptic in his letters. He didn't tell me he'd be here. He also didn't tell me how you lost your hand. Oh, but that is none of my business..."

"Maker's breath, Merrill, you're making me winded just listening to you. I think you and Dagna will get along swimmingly," Philippa said with another chuckle. "I'll tell you the whole story once we get to the Undercroft and I can sit down."

As they reached the top of the first staircase that landed them in the upper courtyard, Philippa was elated when Ariane stopped them to greet Merrill with a polite bow. "Andaran Atish'an, Sister. I had heard a Keeper's First was visiting..."

Merrill waved her hands wildly, her cheeks flushing. "I haven't been First of anything for a long time. I'm Merrill..."

"Ariane," she greeted her in response. "Well met. I have been away from my clan for some time as well. Once you've settled in and you have a minute, it would be wonderful to talk with another of the people."

"That would be lovely!" Merrill agreed.

Ariane left them with a smile and a pat to Philippa's shoulder before heading down toward the stables. "Even though she isn't a mage, I've named Ariane the Inquisition's Keeper. She helps all of the Dalish that find their way to us, and I've shared everything I've learned of your people with her. She's started a rather impressive journal that details what the Inquisition has uncovered. Garrett tells me you have a passion for elven history."

"It's what set me on my path. I lost my clan because I was willing to do whatever it took to preserve what little knowledge we had. I sometimes wish I could take it all back... but you are doing what I always wanted to. Uncovering truths and recording it for future generations. The Dalish owe you a great deal." Merrill's gaze settled on her own feet as they made their way up to the main hall.

Philippa laid her hand on Merrill's shoulder. "You should talk with Ariane. Learn what you can. It should come from another of your people. Not me..."

"You're sweet, Phil. Your brother is too...Oh..." Merrill lifted her hand, her fingers covering her mouth before she spoke between them. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone that."

Philippa chuckled. "I won't spread it around."

Merrill smiled in return as they passed through the main hall and into the Undercroft. Dagna was practically bouncing as they approached. "Oh, my goodness, is this her? It's such an honor to meet you. I just know you'll be able to give Phil her magic back!"

"No pressure," Philippa said, dropping into the nearest chair and rubbing her hand over her abdomen as she regained her breath from the long trek up the stairs.

"Oh, no! It's not pressure! I love a good puzzle... I'm Merrill, by the way," she said, looking between them, her green eyes wide.

"Dagna! Official Arcanist to the Inquisition! If you're up for it, I have our notes from the last six months..."

With that, the two excitable women set to work, speaking in a language that Philippa could not have kept up with even if she had drank a whole pot of coffee. She sat and listened, picking out whatever she could as she quietly enjoyed the rolling of her son. His movements had become more and more pronounced, and whenever she was active, he made himself known for a few hours afterwards. She had learned to make the climb to her bed chambers hours before she intended to go to bed so that she could actually fall asleep without him tumbling around and keeping her awake.

Every so often, she added her input when it was asked and the ruckus went on for hours. Finally, Dagna and Merrill wore themselves out around dinner time. Philippa allowed them to head to dinner together as she hunted down her husband.

"You look especially weary," he said as she approached his desk after finding him in his tower, going over some reports from Rylen and the men they had sent to Haven.

He stood and met her halfway, accepting her hug before she waved her hand and rolled her eyes. "Merrill arrived today, and I've been listening to her and Dagna for the last few hours while they exchanged ideas... It's akin to being in a conversation between two squirrels."

"Hmm..." he said thoughtfully, brushing her hair from her face. "Why don't you head on upstairs, and I'll get us some dinner and you can tell me all about it."

"How exactly did I get so lucky?..." she said with a grin. "Oh, right... blood magic..."

"Get out of here..." he snorted, turning her and giving a light tap to her rear. "I'll be up shortly."

"I'll be waiting..."

**Author's Note:**

> Writing with the voice of a child is particularly difficult for me, so I hope you all enjoy what I've done. Any feedback is appreciated, and many more chapters are coming soon.


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